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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2021 with funding from 
University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 


httos://archive.org/details/introductiontoscOOpark_0 


INTRODUCTION TO THE 
SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


By 


Rosert E. Park AnD ErneEsT W. BurGEss 









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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS 
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 


COPYRIGHT 1921 AND 1924 By 
Tuer UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO 





All Rights Reserved 


Published September 1921 
Second Impression October 1921 
Third Impression June 1922 
Fourth Impression August 1923 
Second Edition October ra24 


Composed and Printed By 
The University of Chicago Press 
Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A. 

















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ow 


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REMOTE STORAGE 


PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION 


The materials upon which this book is based have been collected 
from a wide range of sources and represent the observation and 
reflection of men who have seen life from very different points of 
view. ‘This was necessary in order to bring into the perspective of a 
single volume the whole wide range of social organization and human 
life which is the subject-matter of a science of society. 

At the same time an effort has been made to bring this material 
within the limits of a very definite series of sociological conceptions 
which suggest, at any rate, where they do not clearly exhibit, the 
fundamental relations of the parts to one another and to the concepts 
and contents of the volume as a whole. 

The Introduction to the Science of Sociology is not conceived as a 
mere collection of materials, however, but as a systematic treatise. 
On the other hand, the excerpts which make up the body of the book 
are not to be regarded as mere illustrations. In the context in which 
they appear, and with the headings which indicate their place in the 
volume, they should enable the student to formulate for himself 
the principles involved. An experience of some years, during which 
this book has been in preparation, has demonstrated the value to the 
teacher of a body of materials that are interesting in themselves and 
that appeal to the experience of the student. If students are invited 

to take an active part in the task of interpretation of the text, if 
they are encouraged to use the references in order to extend their 
knowledge of the subject-matter and to check and supplement 
classroom discussion by their personal observation, their whole 
attitude becomes active rather than passive. Students gain in this 
way a sense of dealing at first hand with a subject-matter that is 


- alive and with a science that is in the making. Under these condi- 


tions sociology becomes a common enterprise in which all members 
of the class participate; to which, by their observation and investiga- 
tion, they can and should make contributions. 

The first thing that students in sociology need to learn is to 
observe and record their own observations; to read, and then to 
select and record the materials which are the fruits of their readings; 


vi PREFACE 


to organize and use, in short, their own experience. The whole 
organization of this volume may be taken as an illustration of a 
method, at once tentative and experimental, for the collection, 
classification, and interpretation of materials,and should be used by 
students from the very outset in all their reading and study. 

Social questions have been endlessly discussed, and it is important 
that they should be. What the student needs to learn, however, is 
how to get facts rather than formulate opinions. The most impor- 
tant facts that sociologists have to deal with are opinions (attitudes 
and sentiments), but until students learn to deal with opinions as the 
biologists deal with organisms, that is, to dissect them—reduce them 
to their component elements, describe them, and define the situation 
(environment) to-which they are a response—we must not expect 
very great progress in sociological science. 

It will be noticed that every single chapter, except the first, falls 
naturally into four parts; (1) the introduction, (2) the materials, 
(3) investigations and problems, and (4) bibliography. The first 
two parts of each chapter are intended to raise questions rather than 
to answer them. The last two, on the other hand, should outline or 
suggest problems for further study. The bibliographies have been 
selected mainly to exhibit the recognized points of view with regard 
to the questions raised, and to suggest the practical problems that 
grow out of, and-are related to, the subject of the chapter as a whole. 

The bibliographies, which accompany the chapters, it needs to 
be said, are intended to be representative rather than authoritative 
or complete. An attempt has been made to bring together literature 
that would exhibit the range, the divergence, the distinctive char- 
acter of the writings and points of view upon a single topic. The 
results are naturally subject to criticism and revision. 

A word should be said in regard to chapter i. It seemed necessary 
and important, in view of the general vagueness and uncertainty in 
regard to the place of sociology among the sciences and its relation 
to the other social sciences, particularly to history, to state somewhere, 
clearly and definitely, what, from the point of view of this volume, 
sociology is. This resulted finally in the imposition of a rather 
formidable essay upon what is in other respects, we trust, a relatively 
concrete and intelligible book. Under these circumstances we sug- 
gest that, unless the reader is specially interested in the matter, 


PREFACE vii 


he begin with the chapter on ‘‘Human Nature,” and read the first 
chapter last. 

The editors desire to express their indebtedness to Dr. W. I. 
Thomas for the point of view and the scheme of organization of 
materials which have been largely adopted in this book. They are 
also under obligations to their colleagues, Professor Albion W. Small, 
Professor Ellsworth Faris, and Professor Leon C. Marshall, for 
constant stimulus, encouragement, and assistance. They wish to 
acknowledge the co-operation and the courtesy of their publishers, 
all the more appreciated because of the difficult technical task involved ° 
in the preparation of this volume. In preparing copy for publi- 
cation and in reading proof, invaluable service was rendered by 
Miss Roberta Burgess. : 

Finally the editors are bound to express their indebtedness to 
the writers and publishers who have granted their permission to use 
the materials from which this volume has been put together. With- 
out the use of these materials it would not have been possible to 
exhibit the many and varied types of observation and reflection . 
which have contributed to present-day knowledge of social life. In 
order to give this volume a systematic character it has been necessary 
to tear these excerpts from their contexts and to put them, sometimes, 
into strange categories. In doing this it will no doubt have happened 
that some false impressions have been created. This was perhaps 
inevitable and to be expected. On the other hand these brief excerpts 
offered here will serve, it is hoped, as an introduction to the works 
from which they have been taken, and, together with the bibliog- 
raphies which accompany them, will serve further to direct and 
stimulate the reading and research of students. The co-operation 
of the following publishers, organizations and journals, in giving, by 
special arrangement, permission to use selections from copyright 
material, was therefore distinctly appreciated by the editors: 

D. Appleton & Co.; G. Bell& Sons; J. F. Bergmann; Columbia Uni- 
versity Press; George H. Doran Co.; Duncker und Humblot; Duffield 
& Co.; Encyclopedia Americana Corporation; M. Giard et Cie; Ginn 
& Co.; Harcourt, Brace & Co; Paul B. Hoeber; Houghton Mifflin Co. ; 

See Source Book for Social Origins. Ethnological materials, psychological 


standpoint, classified and annotated bibliographies for the interpretation of savage 
society (Chicago, 1909). 


viii PREFACE 


Henry Holt & Co.; B. W. Huebsch; P.S. King & Son; T. W. Laurie, 
Ltd.; Longmans, Green & Co.; John W. Luce & Co.; The Macmillan 
Co.; A. C. McClurg & Co:.; Methuen & Co.; John Murray; 
Martinus Nijhoff; Open Court Publishing Co.; Oxford University 
Press; G.P. Putnam’s Sons; Riitten und Loening; Charles Scribner’s 
Sons; Frederick A. Stokes & Co.; W. Thacker & Co.; University of 
Chicago Press; University Tutoria] Press, Ltd.; Wagnerische Univ. 
Buchhandlung; Walter Scott Publishing Co.; Williams & Norgate; 
Yale University Press; American Association for International Con- 
ciliation; American Economic Association; American Sociological 
Society; Carnegie Institution of Washington; American Journal of 
Psychology; American Journal of Sociology; Cornhill Magazine; Inter- 
national Journal of Ethics; Journal of Abnormal Psychology; Journai 
of Delinquency; Nature; Pedagogical Seminary; Popular Science 
Monthly; Religious Education; Scientific Monthly; Sociologicat 
Review; World’s Work; Yale Review, : 


CHICAGO 
June 18, 1921 


PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 


The first edition of The Introduction to the Science of Sociology was 
printed in September, 1921. In the two years and more that have 
elapsed since that time, an enormous amount of literature has been 
published, touching the various aspects of social and personal life, 
which have found, in this volume, some sort of systematic treatment. 

In spite of the increase in the literature on the subject, nothing 
has occurred which seemed to make imperative any major changes in 
the text. Three new selections have been included in the materials: 
“No Separate Instincts,” by John Dewey; “Competition, Commercial 
Organization and the Metropolitan Economy,” by N.S. B. Gras; and 
“The Gang and Political Organization,” from the City Wilderness, 
edited by Robert A. Woods. A minor addition to the original text, 
consisting of a paragraph on the topic “Invention” should also, 
perhaps, be noted. Here and there it has seemed wise to alter a 
statement which in its original form was either incorrect or unclear. 

On the other hand, the editors have carefully revised and con- 
siderably extended the classified bibliographies. In this, as in the 
previous edition, it has seemed wise to emphasize source and materials 
rather than systematic treatises. 

There has been some criticism of this volume, on the ground that 
it is too difficult for students beginning the study of sociology, and 
for that reason was not a good introduction. On the other hand, the 
criticism has been made by students in other sciences that sociology, 
as at present taught, is not an “intellectual discipline.” How far 
this criticism is justified is not necessary for us to discuss here, except 
to say, in our own defense, that only a book that compels the student 
to take the science of sociology seriously can meet this criticism. 


CHICAGO 
August 26, 1924 


ix 


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TABLE OF CONTENTS 
CHAPTER I. SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 


i pocioiogy-ands ocientinic’” History: .atwwetli. SP ol) 3s 


Heemrsietoticd ANG SOCIOlOPICAl Pacts "2g se) Ne edie. te 
III. Human Nature and Law... ee oe ie 
IV. History, Natural History, and Petia hee ase 


V. The Social Organism: Humanity or Leviathan ? 
VI. Social Control and Schools of Thought . . . . . 
VII. Social Control and the Collective Mind . 


VIII. Sociology and Social Research 
Representative Works in Systematic s Rene iE M anode oF 
Sociological Research ER ae eae) Sa a 
ORCS JOLUW trent) LHeMes ee “eres hia Ns ee UR oe 
CHUESIIOUD: LOTR I) TS CASS OT g 7 SD a ada? Oa odteon aR kee ce 


CHAPTER II. HuMAN NATURE 

I. Introduction 

1. Human Interest in Human Nature 

2. Definition of Human Nature 

3. Classification of the Materials . 
II. Materials 

’ A. The Original Nature of Man 

1. Original Nature Defined. Edward L. Thorndike 

2. No Separate Instincts. John Dewey . 
Man Not Born Human. Robert E. Park. . . . 
The Natural Man. MilicentW. Shinn . . . . 
Sex Differences. Albert Moll . 
Racial Differences. C.S. Myers . , : 
7. Individual Differences. Edward L. T. horndike : 


B. Human Nature and Social Life 


Se Ras ta 





an Nature, sage and the Mores. William 


xi 


1. Human Nature and Its Remaking. W. E. Hocking © 


PAGE 


12 
16 
24 
27 
36 
43 


57 
60 


60 


64 


68 


73 
75 


79 
85 
88 
Q2 
95 


98 | 


[00 








Xll 
3: 


4. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Habit and Custom, the Individual and the General 
Will. Ferdinand Ténntes : 

The Law, Conscience, and the General Will. Vis- 
count Haldane 


J C. Personality-and the Social Self 


. The Organism as Personality. Th. Ribot. 
. Personality as a Complex. Morton Prince 
. The Self as the Individual’s eet of His Réle. 


Alfred Binet 
The Natural Person versus ie ‘Sanna Pe Gam 
ventional Self. L2.G. Winston . 


. The Divided Self and Moral Cottons William 


James . 


. Personality of Tadividiials ad ai Pion W. 2. 


Bechterew . 


D. Biological and Social Heredity 


I. 
2. 


3. 


Nature and Nurture. J. Arthur Thomson : 
Inheritance of Original Nature. C. B. Davenport . 
Inheritance of Acquired Nature: Tradition. Albert 
G. Keller . 


. Temperament, Tradien aid: Natinnaners Robea 


E. Park 


III. Investigations and Problems 


ifs 


mn & W N 


Conceptions of Human Nature Implicit in Religious 
and Political Doctrines . 


. Literature and the Science of apes Nature 
. Research in the Field of Original Nature . 

. The Investigation of Human Personality 

. The Measurement of Individual Differences . 


Selecied Bibltography . . sie 4 BY is oe 
Topics for Writien Themes 
Questions for Discussion ..< “0 da.) sh a ee ee ee 


CHAPTER III. Soctety AND THE GROUP 


I. Introduction. 


TI. 
2. 


Society, the Community, and the Group... . . 
Classification of the Materials . : 


PAGE 
103 


105 


III 
113 


116 
120 
122 


126 


129 
131 


137 


138 


142 
144 
146 
146 
148 
150 
157 
157 


161 
164 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


II. Materials 


A. Society and Symbiosis 
1. Definition of Society. Alfred Espinas hey 
2. Symbiosis (literally “‘living together”’). William M. 
Wheeler f 
3. The Taming and the Ionia: aston af AE 
P. Chalmers Mitchell. ] 
B. Plant Communitiés and Animal Societies 
1. Plant Communities. Eugenius Warming. 
2. Ant Society. Walliam M.Wheeler . 
C. Human Society 
1. Social Life. John Dewey et eB) 
2. Behavior and Conduct. Roberi E. Park . 
3. Instinct and Character. L. T. Hobhouse. 
4. Collective Representation and Intellectual sites 
Emile Durkheim . 


D. The Social Group 
1. Definition of the Group. Albion W. Small . 
2. The Unity of the Social Group. Robert E. Park 
3. Types of Social Groups. S. Sighele ; 
4. Esprit de Corps, Morale, and Collective en ieenta: 
tions of Social Groups. William E. Hocking 
III. Investigations and Problems | 


1. The Scientific Study of Societies 
2. Surveys of Communities 
3. The Group as a Unit of ieee nent 
4. The Study of the Family 
Selected Bibliography . ash. 
Topics for Written Themes . . . . 
Questions jor Discussion . 


CHAPTER As ISOLATION 
I. Introduction 


1. Geological and Biclowical Conceptions of Isolation . 
2. Isolation and Segregation 
3. Classification of the Materials . 


Il. Materials 
A. Isolation and Personal] Individuality 
1. Society and Solitude Francis Racon. 
z. Society in Solitude. Jean Jacques Roussevit - 


Xill 


PAGE 


167 
169 


172 


175 
182 


184 
187 
192 


195 


198 
200 
202 


207 


210 
201 
212 
213 
207 
223 
223 


226 
228 
230 


233 
234 


xiv TABLE OF CONTENTS 


3. Prayer as a Form of Isolation. George Albert Coe . 
4. Isolation, Originality, and Erudition. JT. Sharper 
Knowlson . oa Myje| Bee iy, th et eae 
B. Isolation and Retardation 
_—-x. Feral Men. MauriceH. Small . . . . 


2. From Solitude to Society. Helen Keller. . . . 


3. Mental Effects of Solitude. W.H. Hudson . 
4. Isolation and the Rural Mind. C.J. Galpin 
5. The Subtler Effects of Isolation. W. J. Thomas 


C. Isolation and Segregation 
1. Segregation as a Process. Robert E. Park 
2. Isolation as a Result of Segregation. L. W. - Grats 
and E. A. Doll ‘ yr 


D. Isolation and National tridivid etiey 
1. Historical Races as Products of Isolation. WN. S. 
Shaler . 
2. Geographical Pelion aad inene Gantten 
George Grote 
3. Isolation as an plang ieee of National Difeenees 
William Z. Ripley 


4. Natural versus Vicinal oem in Nations Develong 


ment. Ellen C. Semple 


III. Investigations and Problems 
1. Isolation in Anthropogeography and met 
2. Isolation and Social Groups 
3. Isolation and Personality AS 
Bibliography: Materials for the Study fe if atl lane 
Topics for Written Themes . . . 2) > eS RS 
Ouestions for Discussion. <4... .. &. “i eee 


CHAPTER V. SOCIAL CONTACTS 

I. Introduction - 
1. Preliminary Notions of Social Contact . .. . 
2.. The Sociological Concept of Contact } 5) Sia 
3.. Classification of the‘ Materials 7% ~.) . ues 

II. Materials 

A. Physical Contact and Social Contact 

1. The Frontiers of Social Contact. Albion W. Small . 
2. The Land and the People. Ellen C. Semple . 
3. Touch gnd Social Contact. Ernest Crawley . 


PAGE 


235 
237 


239 
243 
245 
247 
249 


252 


254 


257 
260 
264 


268 


269 
270 
g7r 
273 
276 
yi) ef 


280 
281 
282 


288 


289 
291 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


B. Social Contact in Relation to Solidarity and to Mobility 


1. The In-Group and the Out-Group. W.G. Sumner . 
2. Sympathetic Contacts versus ei ie Contacts. 


N.S. Shaler . aS Ye Me 
3. Historical Continuity oar Grizrions Friedrich 
Ratzel . Soe 
4. Mobility and the Movettent af Peoples. Ellen C. 
Semple. 


C. Primary and Secondary Contacts 
1. Village Life in America (from the Diary of a Young 
Girl). Caroline C. Richards eae Uns 
2. Secondary Contacts and City Life. Robert E. Park . 
3. Publicity as a Form of Secondary Contact. Robert 


E. Park : aes 
4. From Sentimental to Beton Attitudes. i ornee 
Sombart 
5. The Sociological Signet bse the “ Stranger.” 
GOT E SUMMEL/ Phe eee Ong ges 


III. Investigations and Problems 


y, wehysical. Contacts. 2.05. - 

2. Touch and the Primary Contacts im eriaeier at pts 
3. Primary Contacts of Acquaintanceship . .. . 
mCOMLALY UUTILAGLS: «:0\) y: Tiqumcege™ Sar Yo he cree oe 1 ee 


Bibliography: Materials for the Study 2 Social Contacts . 
Topics for Written Themes : we Masel ts 
Questions for Discussion . 


CuHapTER VI. SoctAL INTERACTION 
Pert 


I. Introduction 


pemenie concent -of Interactioni” 6. pe acuusitAcs tenths 
Boa tassinication oF the Materials <a. kwiecneii cette ule 


II. Materials 


A. Society as Interaction 
1. The Mechanistic Interpretation of Society. ee 
Gumplowicz 
2. Social Interaction as hic reysanitth of the Grom in 
Time and Space. Georg Simmel 


XV 


PAGE 
293 
204 
298 


301 


395 
311 


315 
317 
322 
327 
329 


33° 
331 


332 
336 
330 


339 
341 


346 


348 


XVi TABLE OF CONTENTS 


B. The Natural Forms of Communication 
1. Sociology of the Senses: Visual Interaction. Georg 
Simmel nae eee 
2. The Expression af the Ronee CGhaes Darwin . 
3. Blushing. Charles Darwin . 
4. Laughing. L. Dugas 
C. Language and the Communication of Ideas 
1. Intercommunication in the Lower Animals. 
C. Lloyd Morgan . 
2. The Concept as the Meditn BF Tarai Comuinen 
tion. F. Max Miiller ik yee 
3. Writing as a Form of Comineniention: Gras He 
Judd . 
4. The Extension of Cotantinidation By Hitaen inva 
tion. Carl Biicher 
D. Imitation 
1. Definition of Imitation. Charles H. Judd 
2. Attention, Interest, and Imitation. G. F. Stout 
3. The Three Levels of Sympathy. Th. Ribot . 
4. Rational Sympathy. Adam Smith 
5. Art, Imitation, and Appreciation. Yrj6 Hirn 


E. Suggestion | 
i a Definition of Suggestion. W. ». 


echierew . hee. ae 
2. The Subtler Forms a Suggestion. Albert Moll. 
3. Social Suggestion and Mass or “Corporate”’ Action. 
W. v. Bechterew 


III. Investigations and Problems 


1. The Process of Interaction. . . 
2. Communication . 

3. Imitation . 

Asougcestion) 1. geen ene 

5. Invention 


Selected Bibliography 


Topics for Written Themes 
Questions for Discussion . 


CHAPTER VII. SocrAL FoRcES 
I. Introduction 
1. Sources of the Notion of Social Forces 
2. History of the Concept of Social Forces . 
3. Classification of the Materials . 


PAGE 


356 
361 
365 
37° 


7 i) 


379 


381 
385 


39° 
391 
394 


397 
401 


408 
412 


415 


420 
421 
423 
424 
424 
426 
431 
432 


435 
436 
437 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 


II. Materials 


A. Trends, Tendencies, and Public Opinion 
1. Social Forces in American History. A.M. Simons . 
2. Social Tendencies as Social Forces. Richard T. Ely 
3. Public Opinion and Legislation in England. A. V. 

Dicey . oe AA Ye eRe 

B. Interests, Sentiments, and Attitudes 
1. Social Forces and Interaction. Albion W. Small . 
2. Interests. Albion W. Small 
3. Social Pressures. Arthur F. Bentley . 
4. Idea-Forces. Alfred Fouzllée 
5. Sentiments. William McDougall . 
6. Social Attitudes. Robert E. Park.. 


C. The Four Wishes: A Classification of Social Forces 
1. The Wish, the Social Atom. Edwin B. Holt. 
2. The Freudian Wish. John B. Watson 
3. The Person and His Wishes. W. J. Thomas. 


III. Investigations and Problems 
1. Popular Notions of Social Forces . 
2. Social Forces and History . 
3. Interests, Sentiments, and Avarades as eat Borces 
4. Wishes and Social Forces . . . . ; 
“> Selected Bibliography . ~A 
Topics for Written Themes 
Questions for Discussion . 


CHAPTER VIII. COMPETITION 
I. Introduction 
v1. Popular Conceptions of Competition. . . 
. 2. Competition a Process of Interaction . 
3. Classification of the Materials . 


II. Materials 
A. The Struggle for Existence 

1. Different Forms of the Struggle for Existence. 

J. Arthur Thomson 5 
2. Competition and Natural Sélection. Charles Darwin 
3. Competition, Specialization, and Organization. 

Charles Darwin : d 
4. Man: An Adaptive Miechanien Gears W. (on : 


XVil 


PAGE 


443 
444 


445 


451 
454 
458 
461 
464 
407 


478 
482 
488 


491 
493 
494 
497 
498 
501 
502 


504 
506 
510 


512 
514 


518 
521 


XVill TABLE OF CONTENTS 


TEL: 


II. 


B. Competition and Segregation 


1. Plant Migration, Competition, and Segregation. 


F., E. Clements Ay, Gis 
2. Migration and Segregation. Carl Biicher 


3. Demographic Segregation and Social Selection. 


William Z. Ripley 
4. Inter-racial Competition and Bates Buiaidal 
A. Walker . SHE iter 86 
5. Competition, Commercial Organization, 
Metropolitan Economy. JW. S. B. Gras 
C. Economic Competition 


1. Changing Forms of Economic Competition. 
B. Clark 


Francis 


PAGE 


525 
528 
533 


538 


and the 


John 


2. Competition and the N arate Haroay my Tnvligeate? 


Interests. Adam Smith. , 
3. Competition and Freedom. Frédéric Rosia. 
4. Money and Freedom. Georg Simmel . 
Investigations and Problems 
1. ‘Biological, Competitions 700 ct. leaden 
2. Economic Competition . 
3. Competition and Human Rone : 
4. Competition and the “Inner Enemies”: the 
tis, the Dependents, and the Delinquents . 
Selected Bibliography . 
Topics for Written Themes 
Quesitonssjor Discussion. .- 1) eee eae te ae 


CHAPTER IX. CONFLICT 


. Introduction 
(1. The Concept of Conflict@vr Usman ee 
\g. Classification of the Materials. . . . . 
Materials 


A. Conflict as Conscious Competition 


Defec- 


1. The Natural History of Conflict. W.J. Thomas . 


2. Conflict as a Type of Social Interaction. 
Simmel WT. das avn Dee 

3. Types of Gon dint. eraetone: Georg Simmel . 

B. War, Instincts, and Ideals 

1. War and Human Nature. William A. White 

2. War asa Form of Relaxation. G. T. W. Pat 

3. The Fighting Animal and the Great Society. 
Ruigers Marshall ee We 


Georg 


rick 
Henry 


543 


545 


551 
552 
me 


554 
555 
559 


574 \ 
576 | 


579 


582 
586 


594 
598 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 


C. Rivalry, Cultural Conflicts, and Social Organization 


xix 


PAGE 


1. Animal Rivalry. William H. Hudson 604 
2. The Rivalry of Social Groups. George E. ie Bae 605 
3. The Gang and Political Organization . . . . 610 
4. Cultural Conflicts and the Organization of Sects. 
Franklin H. Giddings - 613 
D. Racial Conflicts 
1. Social Contacts and Race Conflict. Robert E. Park. 610 
2. Conflict and Race Consciousness. Robert E. Park . 626 
3. Conflict and Accommodation. Alfred H. Stone . 634 
III. Investigations and Problems 
1. The Psychology and Sociology of Conflict, Conscious 
Competition, and Rivalry . ae 641 
Pe Y PES OL OMICS Ray cate P RE Pea) ntl Merry 642 
3. The Literature of War . 644 
4. Race Conflict . Ps is ce ees 545 
BUD MICEECHOUDS site. coh een ate Whe > fe), Wig 646 
Selected Bibliography . um Ose 
Topics for Written Themes — 661 
CO eSIIU ISA] OF DISCUSSION 4 PRO a Ti ae 061 
7% 
CHAPTER X. ACCOMMODATION 
I. Introduction 
@>»Adaptation and Accommodation . . .. . . 663 
ga Classification of.the Materials, 9. ., ... +, « (666 
II. Materials 
A. Forms of Accommodation 
1. Acclimatization. Daniel G. Brinton. . . . 671 
2. Slavery Defined. H. J. Nieboer ‘ 674 
3. Excerpts from the Journal of a West Tare Blire 
Owner. Maithew G. Lewis . VA a ile 677 
4. The Origin of Caste in India. John C. Nesfield 681 
5. Caste and the Sentiments of Caste Reflected in 
Popular Speech. Herbert Risley 684 
B. Subordination and Superordination 
1. The Psychology of Subordination and ae ag 
tion. Hugo Miinsterberg 688 


2. Socia] Attitudes in Subordination: Mr mOHeS of an 
Old Servant. An Old Servant . 





692 


XX TABLE OF CONTENTS 


3. The Reciprocal Character of Subordination and 
Superordination. Georg Simmel 


4. Three Types of Subordination and Superordination. 


Georg Simmel . 
C. Conflict and Accommodation 
1. War and Peace as Types of Conflict and Accommoda- 
tion. Georg Simmel «hy 
2. Compromise and Accommodation. Georg Simmel . 
D. Competition, Status, and Social Solidarity 
\z. Personal Competition, Social Selection, and Status. 
Charles H. Cooley 7 
2. Personal Competition and aie Eeclanen " sist 
vidual Types. Robert E. Park 
3. Division of Labor and Social Solidarity Phils 
Durkheim . 
III. Investigations and Problems 
r..Forms,of Accommodation: \\) 3. )t\ ieee 
2. Subordination and Superordination . . . 
3. Accommodation Groups. 
4. Social Organization . 
Selected Bibliography . 
Topics for Writien Themes 
Questions for Discussion . 


CHAPTER XI. ASSIMILATION 
I. Introduction 


1. Popular Conceptions of Assimilation: 7) suse 
2. The Sociology of Assimilation | .. . jum 
3. Classification of the Materials . 
II. Materials 
A. Biological Aspects of Assimilation 
1. Assimilation and Amalgamation. Sarah E. Simons 
2. The Instinctive Basis of Assimilation. W. Trotter . 
B. The Conflict and Fusion of Cultures 
1. The Analysis of Blended Cultures. W. H.R. Rivers 
2. The Extension of Roman Culture in Gaul. John 
H. Cornyn. : ined 
3. The Competition of the Gulturt Langa je) 3B 
Babbitt. ao oe 
4. The Assimilation of Races Robert Te Pigs : 


PAGE 


695 


697 


793 
706 


708 
712 
714 


718 
721 
ya 
723 
725 
732 
732 


734 
735 
737 


740 
742 


751 


754 
750 


III. 


We 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


C. Americanization as a Problem in Assimilation 
1. Americanization as Assimilation 
2. Language as a Means and a Product of piticpation 
3. Assimilation and the Mediation of Individual 
Differences 
Investigations and Problems 
1. Assimilation and Amalgamation 
2. The Conflict and Fusion of Cultures . 
-\3. Immigration and Americanization 
Selected Bibliography . 
Topics for Written Themes 
Questions for Discussion . 


CHAPTER XII. SocrAt CONTROL 


. Introduction 


t. Social Contro] Defined . 
2. Classification of the Materials . 


Materials 
A. Elementary Forms of Social Control 


1. Control in the Crowd and the Public. Lieut. J. S. 
Smith . ; peta: Ua Sees 
2. Ceremonia] Control. “eRe Spencer 
3. Prestige. Lewis Leopold Soak’ See 
4. Prestige and Status in South East ipa. Maurice 
Sige on en es Pe 
5. Taboo. W. Roberison Smith 
B. Public Opinion 
. The Myth. Georges Sorel . 
. The Growth of a Legend. Penh van eo 
. Ritual, Myth, and Dogma. W. Robertson Smith 
. The Nature of Public Opinion. A. Lawrence Lowell 
. Public Opinion and the Mores. Robert E. Park. 
. News and Social Control. Walter Lippmann 
7. The Psychology of Propaganda. Raymond Dodge . 


An B&W HK 


C. Institutions 
1. Institutions and the Mores. W.G. Sumner . 
2. Common Law and Statute Law. Frederic J. Stimson 
3. Religion and Social Control. Charles A. Ellwood . 


Xx1 


PAGE t / 


762 
763 


766 


769 
771 
772 
775 
782 
783 


785 
787 


800 
805 
807 


SII 
812 


816 
819 
822 
826 
829 
834 
837 


841 
843 
846 


Xxil 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


III. Investigations and Problems 


i 
vy 
EE 
4. 


Social Control and Human Nature 
Elementary Forms of Social Control . 
Public Opinion and Social Control 
Legal Institutions and Law. 


Selected Bibliography . 
Topics for Written Themes 
Questions for Discussion . 


CHAPTER XIII. COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 


I. Introduction 


Aum & Ww DN H 


II. Materials 


. Collective Behavior Defined 

. Social Unrest and Collective Behavior 

. The Crowd and the Public . 

. Crowds and Sects 

. sects and Institutions ..... 5 4.) aaeneeeee 
. ‘Classification. of the Materials’, >" 7 =ee see 


A. Social Contagion 


I. 
2. 


An Incident in a Lancashire Cotton Mill Sie 
The Dancing Mania of the Middle Ages. J. F. C. 
Hecker eh eine! ka nn 


B. The Crowd 


1k 


2. 
3. 


The “Animal” Crowd) 2" 9... = 2. 
@) The Flock: “Mary Austin: . ee 

b) The Herd. W.H. Hudson . 6 

c) The Pack. Ernest Thompson Seton . . . 
The Psychological Crowd. Gustave Le Bon . 

The Crowd Defined. Robert E. Park . 


C. Types of Mass Movements 


I. 


Crowd Excitements and Mass Movements: The 
Klondike Rush. T.C. Down . 


. Mass Movements and the Mores: The Woman’s 


Temperance Crusade. Mrs. Annie Wittenmyer . 


. Mass Movements and Revolution 


a) The French Revolution. Gustave Le Bon. 
b) Bolshevism. John Spargo . 


. Mass Movements and Institutions: Methodism. 


William E. H. Lecky. 


PAGE 


848 
849 
850 
851 
854 
862 
862 


865 
866 
867 
870 
872 
874 


878 


895 


898 


905 
900 


QI5 





TABLE OF CONTENTS XXlil 


PAGE 

III. Investigations and Problems 
WaOOCIAL GUTEStS lr.) ) emeararen ts |) yuterme hoa re 2k 
BCS VCC LE DINCIIICS?". Samet enT eh. ton, eee ya ee ean) 
2, Mass Movements . . . CaP re er, he? 
4. Revivals, Religious and Taneantic. eRe i) oi ttia) O20 
Fashion. Reform, and Revolution if gen srs «2 033 


Re ELROD IVE fon. RR aed tia, Se anietn, ye IO TA 
REMERON TINE LS CMES te a: eRe ee date ele ea igs te Nee ka OSl 
Ses SLTOTeLIESCUSSION 15d Peete? ak res Ta les ec hee © OST 


CHAPTER XIV. PROGRESS 
I. Introduction 


Te ropular Conceptions of Progress: 2. SF a0 es ie. L053 
2. The Problem of Progress . . Sy imide Rees, cae TODO 
3. History of the Concept of emacs Pe ee Weg a OSC 
AClassiiication ofthe: Materials).es. is a Oe 962 


II. Materials 


A. The Concept of Progress 
1. The Earliest Conception of Progress. F.S. Marvin 965 


2. Progress and Organization. Herbert Spencer. . . 966 
3. The Stages of Progress. Auguste Comte. . . . 968 
4. Progress and the Historical Process. Leonard T. 

POD eke Ty ME a eee ck gl) mh ty Bee me OOU 


B. Progress and Science 
1. Progress and Happiness. Lester F.Ward . .. . 973 


2. Progress and Prevision. John Dewey. . . Q75 
3. Progress and the Limits of Scientific Preicion: 
Arthur J. Balfour 9... 077 


4. Eugenics as a Science of Progress Francis Galton . a ie) 
C. Progress and Human Nature 


1. The Nature of Man. George Santayana. . . . 983 
2. Propress‘and the Mores....W2 G. Sumner, >... 6 983 
Roe aan roeress. \/ GmesoDryces, (wes % 0 +. OSA 
4. Progress and the Cosmic Urge 
a) The Elan Vitale. Henri Bergson . . ot ene Ooo 
b) The Dunkler Drang. Arthur S oippenkauer se ven OOF 


Ul. Investigations and Problems 
Teecrogress;andi social Researcn 9) 503 ¥s 3 4 Se | OOO 


aC Ee TOP LU TOUTESS ee me es flee, te NOOR 
OTOL OST DIVE Grech ok -c'sh Ute ek ete Mle ce gs LOOK 
eet CRY TULEU LCUES 5 Wea & ho Me RS elie) «ox TOO 


Ben I ISCUSSIOM th Ske Ke al cas sn CENOIO 


4 Trey v > A They = a - 
: % ‘thi a of ett ty ¥ RL bbs (>) ‘a y i tt 
‘ ; i : y ' , an | 
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CHAPTER I 
SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES! 


I. SOCIOLOGY AND ‘“ SCIENTIFIC’? HISTORY 


Sociology first gained recognition as an independent science 
with the publication, between 1830 and 1842, of Auguste Comte’s 
Cours de philosophie positive. Comte did not, to be sure, create 
sociology. He did give it a name, a program, and a place among 
the sciences. 

Comte’s program for the new science proposed an extension to 
politics and to history of the positive methods of the natural sciences. 
Its practical aim was to establish government on the secure foundation 
of an exact science and give to the predictions of history something 
of the precision of mathematical formulae. 


We have to contemplate social phenomena as susceptible of prevision, 
like all other classes, within the limits of exactness compatible with their 
higher complexity. Comprehending the three characteristics of political 
science which we have been examining, prevision of social phenomena sup- 
poses, first, that we have abandoned the region of metaphysical idealities, 
to assume the ground of observed realities by a systematic subordination 
of imagination to observation; secondly, that political conceptions have 
ceased to be absolute, and have become relative to the variable state of civili- 
zation, so that theories, following the natural course of facts, may admit of 
our foreseeing them; and, thirdly, that permanent political action is limited 
by determinate laws, since, if social events were always exposed to disturb- 
ance by the accidental intervention of the legislator, human or divine, no 
scientific prevision of them would be possible. Thus, we may concentrate 
the conditions of the spirit of positive social philosophy on this one great 
attribute of scientific prevision.? 


Comte proposed, in short, to make government a technical 
science and politics a profession. He looked forward to a time 
when legislation, based on a scientific study of human nature, would © 


From Robert E. Park, “Sociology and the Social Sciences,”’ American Jour- 
nal of Sociology, XXVI (1920-21), 401-24; XXVII (1921-22), 1-21; 169-83. 
2 Harriet Martineau, The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte, freely translated 
and condensed (London, 1893), II, 61. 
I 


2 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


assume the character of natural law. ‘The earlier and more ele- 
mentary sciences, particularly physics and chemistry, had given 
man control over external nature; the last science, sociology, was 
to give man control over himself. 


Men were long in Jearning that Man’s power of modifying phenomena 
can result only from his knowledge of their natural laws; and in the infancy 
of each science, they believed themselves able to exert an unbounded influ- 
ence over the phenomena of that science. .... Social phenomena are, of 
course, from their extreme complexity, the last to be freed from this preten- 
sion: but it is therefore only the more necessary to remember that the 
pretension existed with regard to all the rest, in their earliest stage, and to 
anticipate therefore that social science will, in its turn, be emancipated from 
the delusion. .... It [the existing social science] represents the social 
action of Man to be indefinite and arbitrary, as was once thought in regard 
to biological, chemical, physical, and even astronomical phenomena, in the 
earlier stages of their respective sciences. .... The human race finds 
itself delivered over, without logical protection, to the ill-regulated experi- 
mentation of the various political schools, each one of which strives to set 
up, for all future time, its own immutable type of government. We have 
seen what are the chaotic results of such a strife; and we shall find that 
~ there is no chance of order and agreement but in subjecting social phe- 
nomena, like all others, to invariable natural laws, which shall, as a whole, 
prescribe for each period, with entire certainty, the limits and character of 
political action: in other words, introducing into the study of social phe- 
nomena the same positive spirit which has regenerated every other branch 
of human speculation.? 


In the present anarchy of political opinion and parties, changes 
_in the existing social order inevitably assume, he urged, the char- 
acter, at the best, of a mere groping empiricism; at the worst, of a 
social convulsion like that of the French Revolution. Under the 
direction of a positive, in place of a speculative or, as Comte would 
have said, metaphysical science of society, progress must assume 
the character of an orderly march. | 

It was to be expected, with the extension of exact methods of 
investigation to other fields of knowledge, that the study of man 
and of society would become, or seek to become, scientific in the 
sense in which that word is used in the natural sciences. It is 
interesting, in this connection, that Comte’s first name for sociology 


‘Harriet Martineau, op. cit., II, 59-61. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES %, 


was_social physics. It was not until he had reached the fourth 
volume of his Positive Philosophy that the word sociological is used 
for the first time. 

Comte, if he was foremost, was not first in the search for a positive * 
science of society, which would give man that control over men 
that he had over external nature. Montesquieu, in his The Spirit of 
Laws, first published in 1747, had distinguished in the organiza- 
tion of society, between form, ‘“‘the particular structure,’ and 
forces, “‘the human passions which set it in motion.” In his 
preface to this first epoch-making essay in what Freeman calls ‘‘com- 
parative politics,’ Montesquieu suggests that the uniformities, 
which he discovered beneath the wide variety of positive law, were 
contributions not merely to a science of law, but to a science of 
mankind. 

I have first of all considered mankind; and the result of my thoughts 
has been, that amidst such an infinite diversity of laws and manners, they 
* are not solely conducted by the caprice of fancy. 


Hume, likewise, put politics among the natural sciences.? Con- 
dorcet wanted to make history positive. But there were, in the 
period between 1815 and 1840 in France, conditions which made 
the need of a new science of politics peculiarly urgent. The Revo- 
lution had failed and the political philosophy, which had directed 
and justified it, was bankrupt. France, between 1789 and 181s, 
had adopted, tried, and rejected no less than ten different con- 
stitutions. But during this period, as Saint-Simon noted, society, 
and the human beings who compose society, had not changed. It 
was evident that government was not, in any such sense as the 
philosophers had assumed, a mere artefact and legislative construction. 
Civilization, as Saint-Simon conceived it, was, a part of nature. 
Social change was part of the whole cosmic process. He proposed, 
therefore, to make politics a science as positive as physics. The 
subject-matter of political science, as he conceived it, was not so 

* Montesquieu, Baron M. de Secondat, The Spirit of Laws, translated by 
Thomas Nugent (Cincinnati, 1873), I, xxxi. 

2 David Hume, Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Part II, sec. 7. 


3 Condorcet, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrés de Vesprit humain 
(1795), 292. See Paul Barth, Die Philosophie der Geschichte als Sociologie (Leip- 
zig, 1897), Part I, pp. 21-23. 


4 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


much political forms as social conditions. History had been liter- 
ature. It was destined to become a science." 

Comte called himself Saint-Simon’s pupil. It is perhaps more 
correct to say Saint-Simon formulated the problem for which Comte, 
in his Positive Philosophy, sought a solution. It was Comte’s notion 
that with the arrival of sociology the distinction which had so long 
existed, and still exists, between philosophy, in which men define 
their wishes, and natural science, in which they describe the existing 
order of nature, would disappear. In that case ideals would be defined 
in terms of reality, and the tragic difference between what men want 
and what is possible would be effaced. Comte’s error was to mistake 
a theory of progress for progress itself. It is certainly true that as 
men learn what is, they will adjust their ideals to what is possible. 
But knowledge grows slowly. 

Man’s knowledge of mankind has increased greatly since 1842. 
Sociology, “‘the positive science of humanity,” has moved steadily 
forward in the direction that Comte’s program indicated, but it has 
not yet replaced history. Historians are still looking for methods of 
investigation which will make history “‘scientific.”’ 


No one who has watched the course of history during the last generation 
can have felt doubt of its tendency.. Those of us who read Buckle’s first 
volume when it appeared in 1857, and almost immediately afterwards, in 
1859, read the Origin of Species and felt the violent impulse which Darwin 
gave to the study of natural laws, never doubted that historians would follow 
until they had exhausted every possible hypothesis to create a science of 
history. Year after year passed, and little progress has been made. Perhaps 
the mass of students are more skeptical now than they were thirty years ago 
of the possibility that such a science can be created. Yet almost every suc- 
cessful historian has been busy with it, adding here a new analysis, a new 
generalization there; a clear and definite connection where before the rupture 
of idea was absolute; and, above all, extending the field of study until it 
shall include all races, all countries, and all times. Like other branches of 
science, history is now encumbered and hampered by its own mass, but its 
tendency is always the same, and cannot be other than what it is. That 
the effort to make history a science may fail is possible, and perhaps prob- 
able; but that it should cease, unless for reasons that would cause all science 
to cease, is not within the range of experience. Historians will not, and 


t GHuvres de Saint-Simon et d’Enfantin (Paris, 1865-78), XVII, 228. Paul 
Barth, op. cit., Part I, p. 23. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 5 


even if they would they can not, abandon the attempt. Science itself would 
admit its own failure if it admitted that man, the most important of all its 
subjects, could not be brought within its range.* 


Since Comte gave the new science of humanity a name and a 
point of view, the area of historical investigation has vastly widened 
and a number of new social sciences have come into existence— 
ethnology, archaeology, folklore, the comparative studies of cul- 
‘ural materials, i.e., language, mythology, religion, and law, and in 
connection with and closely related with these, folk-psychology, 
social psychology, and the psychology of crowds, which latter is, 
perhaps, the forerunner of a wider and more elaborate political 
psychology. ‘The historians have been very much concerned with 
these new bodies of materials and with the new points of view which 
they have introduced into the study of man and of society. Under 
the influences of these sciences, history itself, as James Harvey 
Robinson has pointed out, has had a history. But with the inno- 
vations which the new history has introduced or attempted to intro- 
duce, it does not appear that there have been any fundamental 
changes in method or ideology in the science itself. 


Fifty years have elapsed since Buckle’s book appeared, and I know of 
no historian who would venture to maintain that we had made any consid- 
erable advance toward the goal he set for himself. A systematic prosecution 
of the various branches of social science, especially political economy, sociol- 
ogy, anthropology, and psychology, is succeeding in explaining many things; 
but history must always remain, from the standpoint of the astronomer, |, 
physicist, or chemist, a highly inexact and fragmentary body of knowledge. | 
. . . . History can no doubt be pursued in a strictly scientific spirit, but 
the data we possess in regard to the past of mankind are not of a nature to 
lend themselves to organization into an exact science, although, as we shall 
see, they may yield truths of vital importance.? 


History has not become, as Comte believed it must, an exact 
science, and sociology has not taken the place of History in the 
social sciences. It is important, however, for understanding the 
mutations which have taken place in sociology since Comte to 


Henry Adams, The Degradation of the Democratic Dogma (New York, 1919), 
p. 220. 


2 James Harvey Robinson, The New History, Essays Illustrating the Modern 
Historical Outlook (New York, 1912), pp. 54-55. 


6 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


remember that it had its origin in an effort to make history exact... 


This, with, to be sure, considerable modifications, is still, as we shall 
see, an ambition of the science. | 
II. HISTORICAL AND SOCIOLOGICAL FACTS 


Sociology, as Comte conceived it, was not, as it has been char- 
acterized, ‘‘a highly important point of view,” but a fundamental 
science, i1.e., a method of investigation and “‘a body of discoveries 
about mankind.’* In the hierarchy of the sciences, sociology, the 
last in time, was first in importance. The order was as follows: 
mathematics, astronomy, physics, chemistry, biology including 
psychology, sociology. This order represented a progression from 
the more elementary to the more complex. It was because history 
and politics were concerned with the most complex of natural phe- 
nomena that they were the last to achieve what Comte called the 
positive character. ‘They did this in sociology. 

Many attempts have been made before and since Comte to 
find a satisfactory classification of the sciences. The order and 
relation of the sciences is still, in fact, one of the cardinal problems 
of philosophy. In recent years the notion has gained recognition 
that the difference between history and the natural sciences is not 
one of degree, but of kind; not of subject-matter merely, but of 
method. ‘This difference in method is, however, fundamental. It 
is a difference not merely in the interpretation but in the logical 
character of facts. 

Every historical fact, it is pointed out, is concerned with a unique 
event. History never repeats itself. If nothing else, the mere 
circumstance that every event has a date and location would give 
historical facts an individuality that facts of the abstract sciences 
do not possess. Because historical facts always are located and 
dated, and cannot therefore be repeated, they are not subject to 
experiment and verification. On the other hand, a fact not subject 
to verification is not a fact for natural science. History, as distin- 
guished from natural history, deals with individuals, i.e., individual 
events, persons, institutions. Natural science is concerned, not with 
individuals, but with classes, types, species. All the assertions that 
are valid for natural science concern classes. An illustration will 
make this distinction clear. | 


t James Harvey Robinson, o/. cit., p. 83. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES i 


Sometime in October, 1838, Charles Darwin happened to pick 
up and read Malthus’ book on Population. The facts of “the struggle 
for existence,’’ so strikingly presented in that now celebrated volume, 
suggested an explanation of a problem which had long interested 
and puzzled him, namely, the origin of species. 

This is a statement of a historical fact, and the point is that 
it is not subject to empirical verification. It cannot be stated, in 
other words, in the form of a hypothesis, which further observation 
of other men of the same type will either verify or discredit. 

On the other hand, in his Descent of Man, Darwin, discussing 
the réle of sexual selection in evolution of the species, makes this 
observation: ‘Naturalists are much divided with respect to the 
object of the singing of birds. Few more careful observers ever 
lived than Montagu, and he maintained that the ‘males of song- 
birds and of many others do not in general search for the female, 
but, on the contrary, their business in spring is to perch on some 
conspicuous spot, breathing out their full and amorous notes, which, 
by instinct, the female knows and repairs to the spot to choose her 
mate.’ ” 

This is a typical statement of a fact of natural history. It is 
not, however, the rather vague generality of the statement that 
makes it scientific. It is its representative character, the character 
which makes it possible of verification by further observation which 
makes it a scientific fact. 

It is from facts of this kind, collected, compared, and classified, 
‘irrespective of time or place, that the more general conclusions are 
drawn, upon which Darwin based his theory of the “descent of 
man.” ‘This theory, as Darwin conceived it, was not an interpretation 
of the facts but an explanation. 

The relation between history and sociology, as well as the manner 
in which the more abstract social sciences have risen out of the more 
concrete, may be illustrated by a comparison between history and 
geography. Geography as a science is concerned with the visible 
world, the earth, its location in space, the distribution of the land 
masses, and of the plants, animals, and peoples upon its surface. 
The order, at least the fundamental order, which it seeks and finds 
among the objects it investigates is spatial. As soon as the geog- 
rapher begins to compare and classify the plants, the animals, and 


8 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the peoples with which he comes in contact, geography passes over 
into the special sciences, i.e., botany, zodlogy, and anthropology. 

History, on the other hand, is concerned with a world of events. 
Not everything that happened, to be sure, is history, but every 
event that ever was or ever will be significant is history. 

Geography attempts to reproduce for us the visible world as 
it exists in space; history, on the contrary, seeks to re-create for us 
in the present the significance of the past. As soon as historians 
seek to take events out of their historical setting, that is to say, 
out of their time and space relations, in order to compare them and 
classify them; as soon as historians begin to emphasize the typical 
and representative rather than the unique character of events, history 
ceases to be history and becomes sociology. 

The differences here indicated between history and sociology 
are based upon a more fundamental distinction between the his- 
torical and the natural sciences first clearly defined by Windel- 
band, the historian of philosophy, in an address to the faculty of 
the University of Strassburg in 1894. 


The distinction between natural science and history begins at the point 
where we seek to convert facts into knowledge. Here again we observe that 
the one (natural science) seeks to formulate laws, the other (history) to por- 
tray events. In the one case thought proceeds from the description of 
particulars to the general relations. In the other case it clings to a genial 
depiction of the individual object or event. For the natural scientist the 
object of investigation which cannot be repeated never has, as such, scientific 
value. It serves his purpose only so far as it may be regarded as a type or as 
a special instance of a class from which the type may be deduced. The 
natural scientist considers the single case only so far as he can see in it the 
features which serve to throw light upon a general law. For the historian 
the problem is to revive and call up into the present, in all its particularity, ~ 
aneventinthe past. His aim is to do for an actual event precisely what the 
artist seeks to do for the object of his imagination. It is just here that we 
discern the kinship between history and art, between the historian and the 
writer of literature. It is for this reason that natural science emphasized 

{he abstract; the historian, on the other hand, is interested mainly in the 
concrete. 

The fact that natural science emphasizes the abstract and history the 
concrete will become clearer if we compare the results of the researches of the 
two sciences. However finespun the conceptions may be which the historical 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 9 


critic uses in working over his materials, the final goal of such study is always 
to create out of the mass of events a vivid portrait of the past. And what 
history offers us is pictures of men and of human life, with all the wealth of 
their individuality, reproduced in all their characteristic vivacity. Thus do 
the peoples and languages of the past, their forms and beliefs, their struggles 
for power and freedom, speak to us through the mouth of history. 

How differentitis with the world which the natural sciences have created 
for us! However concrete the materials with which they started, the goal of 
these sciences is theories, eventually mathematical formulations of laws of 
change. ‘Treating the individual, sensuous, changing objects as mere unsub- 
stantial appearances (phenomena), scientific investigation becomes a search 
for the universal laws which rule the timeless changes of events. Out of this 
colorful world of the senses, science creates a system of abstract concepts, in 
which the true nature of things is conceived to exist—a world of colorless and 
youndless atoms, despoiled of all their earthly sensuous qualities. Such is the 
triumph of thought over perception. Indifferent to change, science casts her 
anchor in the eternal and unchangeable. Not the change as such but the 
unchanging form of change is what she seeks. 

This raises the question: What is the more valuable for the purposes of » 
knowledge in general, a knowledge of law or a knowledge of events? As far 
as that is concerned, both scientific procedures may be equally justified. The 
knowledge of the universal laws has everywhere a practical value in so far as 
they make possible man’s purposeful intervention in the natural processes. 
That is quite as true of the movements of the inner as of the outer world. In 
the latter case knowledge of nature’s laws has made it possible to create those 
tools through which the control of mankind over external nature is steadily 
being extended. 

Not less for the purposes of the common life are we dependent upon the 
results of historical knowledge. Man is, to change the ancient form of the 
expression, the animal who has a history. His cultural life rests on the 
transmission from generation to generation of a constantly increasing body 
of historical memories. Whoever proposes to take an active part in this 
cultural process must have an understanding of history. Wherever the 
thread is once broken—as history itself proves—it must be painfully 
gathered up and knitted again into the historical fabric. 

It is, to be sure, true that it is an economy for human understanding to 
be able to reduce to a formula or a general concept the common characteris- 
‘tics of individuals. But the more man seeks to reduce facts to concepts and 
laws, the more he is obliged to sacrifice and neglect the individual. Men 
have, to be sure, sought, in characteristic modern fashion, ‘to make of 
history a natural science.” This was the case with the so-called philosophy 


Io INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of history of positivism. What has been the net result of the laws of history 
which it has given us? A few trivial generalities which justify themselves 
only by the most careful consideration of their numerous exceptions. 

On the other hand it is certain that all interest and values of life 
are concerned with what is unique in men and events. Consider how 
quickly our appreciation is deadened as some object is multiplied or is 
| regarded as one case ina thousand. ‘She isnot the first”’ is one of the cruel 

passages in Faust. It is in the individuality and the uniqueness of an object 
that all our sense of value has its roots. It is upon this fact that Spinoza’s 
doctrine of the conquest of the passions by knowledge rests, since for him 
knowledge is the submergence of the individual in the universal, the “‘once 
for all” into the eternal. 

The fact that all our livelier appreciations rest upon the unique character 
of the object is illustrated above all in our relations to persons. Is it not an 
unendurable thought, that a loved object, an adored person, should have 
existed at some other time in just the form in which it now exists for us? 
Is it not horrible and unthinkable that one of us, with just this same 
individuality shouid actually have existed in a second edition ? 

What is true of the individual man is quite as true of the whole historical 
process: it has value only when it is unique. This is the principle which the 
Christian doctrine successfully maintained, as over against Hellenism in the 
Patristic philosophy. The middle point of their conception of the world was 

the fall and the salvation of mankind as a unique event. That was the first 

and great perception of the inalienable metaphysical right of the historian to 
preserve for the memory of mankind, in all their uniqueness and individual- 
ity, the actual events of life.t 


Like every other species of animal, man has a natural history. 
Anthropology is the science of man considered as one of the animal 
species, Homo sapiens. History and sociology, on the other hand, 
are concerned with man as a person, as a “‘political animal,” partici- 
pating with his fellows in a common fund of social traditions and 
cultural ideals. Freeman, the English historian, said that history 
was “past politics” and politics “present history.” Freeman uses 


* Wilhelm Windelband, Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft, Rede zum Antriti des 
Rectorats der Kaiser-Wilhelms Universitat Strassburg (Strassburg, 1900). The logical 
principle outlined by Windelband has been further elaborated by Heinrich Rickert 
in Die Grenzen der naturwissenschaftlichen Begriffsbildung, eine logische Einleitung in 
die historischen Wissenschaften (Tiibingen u. Leipzig, 1902). See also Georg Simmel, 
Die Probleme der Geschichts philosophie, eine erkenninistheorctische Studie (2d ed., 
Leipzig, 1915), and Benedetto Croce, History. Its theory and practice (New 
York, 1921). 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES II 


the word politics in the large and liberal sense in which it was 
first used by Aristotle. In that broad sense of the word, the political 
process, by which men are controlled and states governed, and the 
cultural process, by which man has been domesticated and human 
nature formed, are not, as we ordinarily assume, different, but iden- 
tical, procedures. 

All this suggests the intimate relations which exist between 
history, politics, and sociology. The important thing, however, is 
not the identities but the distinctions. For, however much the 
various disciplines may, in practice, overlap, it is necessary for the 
sake of clear thinking to have their limits defined. As far as sociology 
and history are concerned the differences may be summed up in a 
word. Both history and sociology are concerned with the life of 
man as man. History, however, seeks to reproduce and interpret | 
concrete events as they actually occurred in time and space. Sociol- | 
ogy, on the other hand, seeks to arrive at natural laws and generali- | 
zations in regard to human nature and society, irrespective of time | 
and of place. 

In other words, history seeks to find out what actually happened _ | 
and how it all came about. Sociology, on the other hand, seeks to | 
explain, on the basis of a study of other instances, the nature of | 
the process involved. i 
~ By nature we mean just that aspect and character of things 
in regard to which it is possible to make general statements and 
formulate laws. If we say, in explanation of the peculiar behavior 
of some individual, that it is natural or that it is after all “simply 
human nature,” we are simply saying that this behavior is what we 
have learned to expect of this individual or of human beings in general. 
It is, in other words, a law. 

Natural law, as the term is used here, is any statement which 
describes the behavior of a class of objects or the character of a 
class of acts. For example, the classic illustration of the so-called 
“universal proposition” familiar to students of formal logic, “all 
men are mortal,” is an assertion in regard to a class of objects we 
call men. This is, of course, simply a more formal way of saying 
that ‘‘men die.”’ Such general statements and ‘“‘laws” get meaning 
only when they are applied to particular cases, or, to speak again 
in the terms of formal logic, when they find a place in a syllogism, 


I2 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


thus: “Men are mortal. This is a man.” But such syllogisms 
may always be stated in the form of a hypothesis. If this is a man, 
he is mortal. Ifaisb, aisalsoc. The statement, “Human nature 
is a product of social contact,” is a general assertion familiar to 
students of sociology. This law or, more correctly, hypothesis, 
applied to an individual case explains the so-called feral man. Wild 
men, in the proper sense of the word, are not the so-called savages, 
but the men who have never been domesticated, of which an individual 
example is now and then discovered. 

To state a law in the form of a hypothesis serves to emphasize 
the fact that laws—what we have called natural laws at any rate— 
are subject to verification and restatement. Under the circum- 
stances the exceptional instance, which compels a restatement of 
the hypothesis, is more important for the purposes of science than 
other instances which merely confirm it. 

Any science which operates with hypotheses and seeks to state 
facts in such a way that they can be compared and verified by further 
observation and experiment is, so far as method is concerned, a 
natural science. 


Ill. HUMAN NATURE AND LAW 


One thing that makes the conception of natural history and 
natural law important to the student of sociology is that in the 
field of the social sciences the distinction between natural and moral 
law has from the first been confused. Comte and the social phi- 
losophers in France after the Revolution set out with the deliberate 
purpose of superseding legislative enactments by laws of human 
nature, laws which were to be positive and “scientific.” As a matter 
of fact, sociology, in becoming positive, so far from effacing, has 
rather emphasized the distinctions that Comte sought to abolish. 
Natural law may be distinguished from all other forms of law by the 
fact that it aims at nothing more than a description of the behavior 
of certain types or classes of objects. A description of the way in 
which a class, i.e., men, plants, animals, or physical objects, may be 
expected under ordinary circumstances to behave, tells us what we 
may in a general way expect of any individual member of that class. 
If natural science seeks to predict, it is able to do so simply because 
it operates with concepts or class names instead, as is the case with 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 13 


history, with concrete facts and, to use a logical phrase, ‘‘ existential 
propositions.” 


That the chief end of science is descriptive formulation has probably 
been clear to keen analytic minds since the time of Galileo, especially to the 
great discoverers in astromony, mechanics, and dynamics. But as a defi- 
nitely stated conception, corrective of misunderstandings, the view of science 
as essentially descriptive began to make itself felt about the beginning of the 
last quarter of the nineteenth century, and may be associated with the names 
of Kirchhoff and Mach. It was in 1876 that Kirchhoff defined the task of 
mechanics as that of ‘‘describing completely and in the simplest manner the 


motions which take place in nature.” Widening this a little, we may say ~ 
that the aim of science is to describe natural phenomena and occurrences as { 
exactly as possible, as simply as possible, as completely as possible, as con- | 
sistently as possible, and always in terms which are communicable and veri- | 


fiable. This is a very different rdle from that of solving the riddles of the 
universe, and it is well expressed in what Newton said in regard to the law 
of gravitation: ‘“‘So far I have accounted for the phenomena presented to 
us by the heavens and the sea by means of the force of gravity, but I have 
as yet assigned no cause to this gravity..... I have not been able to 
deduce from phenomena the raison d’éire of the properties of gravity and I 
have not set up hypotheses.”” (Newton, Philosophiae naturalis principia 
Mathematica, 1687.) 

“We must confess,”’ said Prof. J. H. Poynting (1900, p. 616), “that 
physical laws have greatly fallen off in dignity. No long time ago they were 
quite commonly described as the Fixed Laws of Nature, and were supposed 
sufficient in themselves to govern the universe. Now we can only assign 
to them the humble rank of mere descriptions, often erroneous, of similarities 
which we believe we have observed. .... A law of nature explains nothing, 
it has no governing power, it is but a descriptive formula which the careless 
have sometimes personified.” It used to be said that “the laws of Nature 
are the thoughts of God”; now we say that they are the investigator’s 
formulae summing up regularities of recurrence. 


If natural law aims at prediction it tells us what we can do. 
Moral laws, on the other hand, tell us, not what we can, but what 
we ought to do.? The civil or municipal law, finally, tells us not 
what we can, nor what we ought, but what we must do. It is very 
evident that these three types of law may be very intimately related. 


tJ. Arthur Thomson, The System of Animate Nature (New York, 1920), pp. 8-9. 
See also Karl Pearson, The Grammar of Science (2d ed.; London, 1900), chap. iii. 

2See Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsdtze zur Wissenschaftslehre. “‘Die ‘Objekti- 
vitat’ sozialwissenschaftlicher und sozialpolitischer Erkenntnis,” pp. 146-214. 
Tiibingen, i922. 


\ 
j 
} 


» 
ty 


14 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


We do not know what we ought to do until we know what we can do; 
and we certainly should consider what men can do before we pass — 
laws prescribing what they must do. ‘There is, moreover, no likeli- 
hood that these distinctions will ever be completely abolished. As 
long as the words “can,” “‘ought,’’ and ‘‘must”’ continue to have any 
meaning for us the distinctions that they represent will persist in 
science as well as in common sense. 

The immense prestige which the methods of the natural sciences 
have gained, particularly in their application to the phenomena of 
the physical universe, has undoubtedly led scientific men to over- 
estimate the importance of mere conceptual and abstract knowledge. 
It has led them to assume that history also must eventually become 
“scientific” in the sense of the natural sciences. In the meantime 
the vast collections of historical facts which the industry of his- 
torical students has accumulated are regarded, sometimes even by 
historians themselves, as a sort of raw material, the value of which 
can only be realized after it has been worked over into some sort 
of historical generalization which has the general character of scientific 
and ultimately, mathematical formula. 

“History,” says Karl Pearson, ‘‘can never become science, can 
never be anything but a catalogue of facts rehearsed in a more or 
less pleasing language until these facts are seen to ‘fall into sequences 
which can be briefly resumed in scientific formulae.”* And Henry 
Adams, in a letter to the American Historical Association already 
referred to, confesses that history has thus far been a fruitless quest 
for ‘‘the secret which would transform these odds and ends of phi- 
losophy into one self-evident, harmonious, and complete system.” 

You may be sure that four out of five serious students of history who 
are living today have, in the course of their work, felt that they stood on the 
brink of a great generalization that would reduce all history under a law as 
clear as the laws which govern the material world. As the great writers of 
our time have touched one by one the separate fragments of admitted law 
by which society betrays its character as a subject for science, not one of 
them can have failed to feel an instant’s hope that he might find the secret 
which would transform these odds and ends of philosophy into one self- 
evident, harmonious, and complete system. He has seemed to have it, as 
the Spanish say, in his inkstand. Scores of times he must have dropped his 


pen to think how one short step, one sudden inspiration, would show all 
human knowledge; how, in these thickset forests of history, one corner 


t Karl Pearson, op. cit., p. 350. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 15 


turned, one faint trail struck, would bring him on the highroad of science. 
Every professor who has tried to teach the doubtful facts which we now call 
history must have felt that sooner or later he or another would put order in 
the chaos and bring light into darkness. Not so much genius or favor was 
needed as patience and good luck. The law was certainly there, and as 
certainly was in places actually visible, to be touched and handled, as though 
it were a law of chemistry or physics. No teacher with a spark of imagina- 
tion or with an idea of scientific method can have helped dreaming of the 
immortality that would be achieved by the man who should successfully 
apply Darwin’s method to the facts of human history." 


The truth is, however, that the concrete facts, in which history 
and geography have sought to preserve the visible, tangible, and, 
generally speaking, the experiential aspects of human life and the 
visible universe, have a value irrespective of any generalization or 
ideal constructions ‘which may be inferred from or built up out of 
them. Just as none of the investigations or generalizations of 
individual psychology are ever likely to take the place of biography 
and autobiography, so none of the conceptions of an abstract sociology, 
no scientific descriptions of the social and cultural processes, and no 
laws of progress are likely, in the near future at any rate, to supersede 
the more concrete facts of history in which are preserved those records 
of those unique and never fully comprehended aspects of life which 
we call events. 

It has been the dream of philosophers that theoretical and abstract 
science could and some day perhaps would succeed in putting into 
formulae and into general terms all that was significant in the 
concrete facts of life. It has been the tragic mistake of the so-called 
intellectuals, who have gained their knowledge from textbooks rather 
than from observation and research, to assume that science had 
already realized its dream. But there is no indication that science 
has begun to exhaust the sources or significance of concrete experience. 
The infinite variety of external nature and the inexhaustible wealth 
of personal experience have thus far defied, and no doubt will continue 
to defy, the industry of scientific classification, while, on the other 
hand, the discoveries of science are constantly making accessible to 
us new and larger areas of experience. 

What has been said simply serves to emphasize the instrumental 
character of the abstract sciences. History and geography, all of 


Henry Adams, op. cit., p. 127. 


16 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the concrete sciences, can and do measurably enlarge our experience 
of life. Their very purpose is to arouse new interests and create 
new sympathies; to give mankind, in short, an environment so 
vast and varied as will call out and activate all his instincts and 
capacities. 

The more abstract sciences, just to the extent that they are 
abstract and exact, like mathematics and logic, are merely methods 
and tools for converting experience into knowledge and applying 
the knowledge so gained to practical uses. 


IV. HISTORY, NATURAL HISTORY, AND SOCIOLOGY 


Although it is possible to draw clear distinctions in theory between 
the purpose and methods of history and sociology, in practice the 
two forms of knowledge pass over into one another by almost imper- 
ceptible gradations. ! 

The sociological point of view makes its appearance in historical 
investigation as soon as the historian turns from the study of ‘‘periods”’ 
to the study of institutions. The history of institutions, that is to 
say, the family, the church, economic institutions, political institu- 
tions, etc., leads inevitably to comparison, classification, the formation 
of class names or concepts, and eventually to the formulation of law. 
In the process, history becomes natural history, and natural history 
passes over into natural science. In short, history becomes sociology. 

Westermarck’s History of Human Marriage is one of the earliest 
attempts to write the natural history of a social institution. It is 
based upon a comparison and classification of marriage customs 
of widely scattered peoples, living under varied physical and social 
conditions. What one gets from a survey of this kind is not so much 
history as a study of human behavior. The history of marriage, as 
of any other institution, is, in other words, not so much an account 
of what certain individuals or groups of individuals did at certain 
times and certain places, as it is a description of the responses of a few 
fundamental human instincts to a variety of social situations. Wes- 
termarck calls this kind of history sociology.' 


«Professor Robertson Smith (Nature, XLIV, 270), criticizing Westermarck’s 
History of Human Marriage, complains that the author has confused history with 
natural history. ‘‘The history of an institution,” he writes, ‘“‘which is controlled 
by public opinion and regulated by law is not natural history. The true history of 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 17 


It is in the firm conviction that the history of human civilization should 
be made an object of as scientific a treatment as the history of organic nature 
that I write this book. Like the phenomena of physical and psychical life 
those of social life should be classified into certain groups and each group 
investigated with regard to its origin and development. Only when treated 
in this way can history lay claim to the rank and honour of a science in the 
highest sense of the term, as forming an important part of Sociology, the 
youngest of the principal branches of learning. 

Descriptive historiography has no higher object than that of offering 
materials to this science. 


Westermarck refers to the facts which he has collected in his 
history of marriage as phenomena. For the explanation of these 
phenomena, however, he looks to the more abstract sciences. 


The causes on which social phenomena are dependent fall within the ' 


domain of different sciences—Biology, Psychology, or Sociology. The reader 
will find that I put particular stress upon the psychological causes, which 
have often been deplorably overlooked, or only imperfectly touched upon. 
And more especially do I believe that the mere instincts have played a very 
important part in the origin of social institutions and rules.’ 


Westermarck derived most of his materials for the study of 
marriage from ethnological materials. Ethnologists, students of 
folklore (German Vdélkerkunde), and archaeology are less certain 
than the historians of institutions whether their investigations are 
historical or sociological. 

Jane Harrison, although she disclaims the title of sociologist, 
bases her conception of the origin of Greek religion on a sociological 
theory, the theory namely that ‘‘among primitive peoples religion 
reflects collective feeling and collective thinking.’’ Dionysius, the 


marriage begins where the natural history of pairing ends. .... To treat these 
topics (polyandry, kinship through the female only, infanticide, exogamy) as 
essentially a part of the natural history of pairing involves a tacit assumption that 
the laws of society are at bottom mere formulated instincts, and this assumption 
really underlies all our author’s theories. His fundamental position compels him, 
if he will be consistent with himself, to hold that every institution connected with 
marriage that has universal validity, or forms an integral part of the main line of 
development, is rooted in instinct, and that institutions which are not based on 
instinct are necessarily exceptional and unimportant for scientific history.” 


t Edward Westermarck, The History of Human Marriage (London, 1901), p. I. 
viii, p.'5. 


— 


—— 


18 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


god of the Greek mysteries, is according to her interpretation a 
product of the group consciousness. 

The mystery-god arises out of those instincts, emotions, desires which 
attend and express life; but these emotions, desires, instincts, in so far as 
they are religious, are at the outset rather of a group than of individual con- 
sciousness. .... It is a necessary and most important corollary to this 
doctrine, that the form taken by the divinity reflects the social structure of 
the group to which the divinity belongs. Dionysius is the Son of his Mother 
because he issues from a matrilinear group.? 


This whole study is, in fact, merely an application of Durk- 
heim’s conception of “collective representations.” 

Robert H. Lowie, in his recent volume, Primitive Society, refers 
to ‘‘ethnologists and other historians,’’ but at the same time asks: 
“What kind of an historian shall the ethnologist be ?”’ 

He answers the question by saying that, “If there are laws of 
social evolution, he [the ethnologist] must assuredly discover them,”’ 
but at any rate, and first of all, “his duty is to ascertain the course 
civilization has actually followed..... To strive for the ideals 
of another branch of knowledge may be positively pernicious, for 
it can easily lead to that factitious simplification which means — 
falsification.” 

In other words, ethnology, like history, seeks to tell what actually 
happened. It is bound to avoid abstraction, ‘‘over-simplification,”’ 
and formulae, and these are the ideals of another kind of scientific 
procedure. As a matter of fact, however, ethnology, even when it 
has attempted nothing more than a description of the existing cul- 
tures of primitive peoples, their present distribution and the order of 
their succession, has not freed itself wholly from the influence of ab- 
stract considerations. Theoretical problems inevitably arise for the so- 
lution of which it is necessary to go to psychology and sociology. One 
of the questions that has arisen in the study, particularly the com- 
parative study, of cultures is: how far any existing cultural trait is 
borrowed and how far it is to be regarded as of independent origin. 

In the historical reconstruction of culture the phenomena of distribution 
play, indeed, an extraordinary part. Ifa trait occurs everywhere, it might 
veritably be the product of some universally operative social law. If it is 


t Jane Ellen Harrison, Themis, A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion 
(Cambridge, 1912), p. ix. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 19 


found in a restricted number of cases, it may still have evolved through 
some such instrumentality acting under specific conditions that would then 
remain to be determined by analysis of the cultures in which the feature is 
embedded..... Finally, the sharers of a cultural trait may be of distinct 
lineage but through contact and borrowing have come to hold in common 
a portion of their cultures. .... 

_ Since, as a matter of fact, cultural resemblances abound between peoples 
of diverse stock, their interpretation commonly narrows to a choice between 
two alternatives. Either they are due to like causes, whether these can be 
determined or not; or they are the result of borrowing. A predilection for 
one or the other explanation has lain at the bottom of much ethnological 
discussion in the past; and at present influential schools both in England and 
in continental Europe clamorously insist that all cultural parallels are due 
to diffusion from a single center. It is inevitable to envisage this moot- 
problem at the start, since uncompromising championship of either alterna- 
tive has far-reaching practical consequences. For if every parallel is due to 
borrowing, then sociological laws, which can be inferred only from independ- 
ently developing likenesses, are barred. Then the history of religion or 
social life or technology consists exclusively ina statement of the place of 
origin of beliefs, customs and implements, and a recital of their travels to 
different parts of the globe. On the other hand, if borrowing covers only 
part of the observed parallels, an explanation from like causes becomes at 
least the ideal goal in an investigation of the remainder. 


An illustration will exhibit the manner in which problems 
originally historical become psychological and sociological. Tylor 
in his Early History of Mankind has pointed out that the bellows 
used by the negro blacksmiths of continental Africa are of a quite 
different type from those used by natives of Madagascar. The 
bellows used by the Madagascar blacksmiths, on the other hand, 
are exactly like those in use by the Malays of Sumatra and in other 
parts of the Malay Archipelago. This indication that the natives 
of Madagascar are of Malay origin is in accordance with other 
anthropological and ethnological data in regard to these peoples, 
which prove the fact, now well established, that they are not of 
African origin. 

Similarly Boas’ study of the Raven cycle of American Indian 
mythology indicated that these stories originated in the northern 
part of British Columbia and traveled southward along the coast. 


* Robert H. Lowie, Primitive Society (New York, 1920), pp. 7-8. 


20 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


One of the evidences of the direction of this progress is the gradual 
diminution of complexity in the stories as they traveled into regions 
farther removed from the point of origin. 

All this, in so far as it seeks to determine the point of origin, 
direction, speed, and character of changes that take place in cul- 
tural materials in the process of diffusion, is clearly history and 
ethnology. 

Other questions, however, force themselves inevitably upon the 
attention of the inquiring student. Why is it that certain cultural 
materials are more widely and more rapidly diffused than others? 
Under what conditions does this diffusion take place and why does 
it take place at all? Finally, what is the ultimate source of cus- 
toms, beliefs, languages, religious practices, and all the varied tech- 
nical devices which compose the cultures of different peoples? What 
are the circumstances and what are the processes by which cultural 
traits are independently created ? Under what conditions do cultural 
fusions take place and what is the nature of this process ? 

These are all fundamentally problems of human nature, and as 
human nature itself is now regarded as a product of social inter- 
course, they are problems of sociology. 

The cultural processes by which languages, myth, and religion 
have come into existence among primitive peoples have given rise 
in Germany to a special science. Folk-psychology (Vélkerpsycholo- 
gic) had its origin in an attempt to answer in psychological terms 
the problems to which a comparative study of cultural materials 
has given rise. 


From two different directions ideas of folk-psychology have found their 
way into modern science. First of all there was a demand from the different 
social sciences [Geisteswissenschafien] for a psychological explanation of the 
phenomena of social life and history, so far as they were products of social 
[geistiger] interaction. In the second place, psychology itself required, in 
order to escape the uncertainties and ambiguities of pure introspection, a 
body of objective materials. 

Among the social sciences the need for psychological interpretation first 
manifested itself in the studies of language and mythology. Both of these 
had already found outside the circle of the philological studies independent 
fields of investigation. As soon as they assumed the character of compara- 
tive sciences it was inevitable that they should be driven to recognize that 
in addition to the historical conditions, which everywhere determines the 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 21 


concrete form of these phenomena, there had been certain fundamental 
psychical forces at work in the development of language and myth.! 


The aim of folk-psychology has been, on the whole, to explain 
the genesis and development of certain cultural forms, i.e., lan- 
guage, myth, and religion. The whole matter may, however, be 
regarded from a quite different point of view. Gabriel Tarde, for 
example, has sought to explain, not the genesis, but the transmission 
and diffusion of these same cultural forms. For Tarde, communi-. 
cation (transmission of cultural forms and traits) is the one central 
and significant fact of social life. ‘Social’? is just what can be 
transmitted by imitation. Social groups are merely the centers 
from which new ideas and inventions are transmitted. Imitation 
is the social process. 


There is not a word that you say, which is not the reproduction, now 
unconscious, but formerly conscious and voluntary, of verbal articulations 
reaching back to the most distant past, with some special accent due to your 
immediate surroundings. ‘There is not a religious rite that you fulfil, such 
as praying, kissing the icon, or making the sign of the cross, which does not 
reproduce certain traditional gestures and expressions, established through 
imitation of your ancestors. There is not a military or civil requirement 
that you obey, nor an act that you perform in your business, which has not 
been taught you, and which you have not copied from some living model. 
There is not a stroke of the brush that you make, if you are a painter, nor a 
verse that you write, if you are a poet, which does not conform to the cus- 
toms or the prosody of your school, and even your very originality itself is 
made up of accumulated commonplaces, and aspires to become common- 
place in its turn. , 

Thus, the unvarying characteristic of every social fact whatsoever is 
that it is imitative. And this characteristic belongs exclusively to social 
facts.? 


Tarde’s theory of transmission by imitation may be regarded, 
in some sense, as complementary, if not supplementary, to Wundt’s 


t Wilhelm Wundt, Volker psychologie, eine Untersuchung der Entwicklungs gesetze 
von Sprache, Mythus und Siite. Erster Band, Die Sprache, Erster Theil (Leipzig, 
1900), p. 13. The name folk-psychology was first used by Lazarus and Steinthal., 
Zeitschrift fiir Volkerpsychologie und Sprachwissenschaft, I, 1860. Wundt’s folk- 
psychology is a continuation of the tradition of these earlier writers. 

2G. Tarde, Social Laws, An Outline of Sociology, translated from the French by 
Howard C. Warren (New York, 1899), pp. 40-41. 


22 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


theory of origins, since he puts the emphasis on the fact of trans- 
mission rather than upon genesis. In a paper, ‘Tendencies in 
Comparative Philology,” read at the Congress of Arts and Sciences 
at the St. Louis Exposition in 1904, Professor Hanns Oertel, of 
Yale University, refers to Tarde’s theory of imitation as an alter- 
native explanation to that offered by Wundt for “the striking 
uniformity of sound changes” which students of language have dis- 
covered in the course of their investigation of phonetic changes in 
widely different forms of speech. | 


It seems hard to maintain that the change in a syntactical construction 
or in the meaning of a word owes its universality to a simultaneous and inde- 
pendent primary change in all the members of a speech-community. By 
adopting the theory of imitative spread, all linguistic changes may be viewed 
as one homogeneous whole. In the second place, the latter view seems to 
bring linguistic changes into line with the other social changes, such as modi- 
fications in institutions, beliefs, and customs. For is it not an essential char- 
acteristic of a social group that its members are not co-operative in the sense 
that each member actively participates in the production of every single ele- 
ment which goes to make up either language, or belief, or customs? Distin- 
guishing thus between primary and secondary changes and between the origin 
of a change and its spread, it behuoves us to examine carefully into the causes 
which make the members of a social unit, either consciously or unconsciously, 
willing to accept the innovation. What is it that determines acceptance or 
rejection of a particular change? What limits one change to a small area, 
while it extends the area of another? Before a final decision can be reached 
in favor of the second theory of imitative spread it will be necessary to follow 
out in minute detail the mechanism of this process in a number of concrete 
instances; in other words to fill out the picture of which Tarde (Les lois de 
limitation) sketched the bare outlines. If his assumptions prove true, then 
we should have here a uniformity resting upon other causes than the physical 
uniformity that appears in the objects with which the natural sciences deal. 


It would enable us to establish a second group of uniform phenomena which | 


is psycho-physical in its character and rests upon the basis of social sugges- 
tion. The uniformities in speech, belief, and institutions would belong to 
this second group.? 


What is true of the comparative study of languages is true in 
every other field in which a comparative study of cultural materials 


* Hanns Oertel, ““Some Present Problems and Tendencies in Comparative Phi- 
lology,” Congress of Arts and Science, Universal Exposition, St. Louis, 1904 
(Boston, 1906), III, so. 


A 


a 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 23 


has been made. As soon as these materials are studied from the 
point of view of their similarities rather than from the point of view 
of their historical connections, problems arise which can only be 
explained by the more abstract sciences of psychology or sociology, 
Freeman begins his lectures on Comparative Politics with the state- 
ment that “the comparative_method of study has.been the greatest 
intellectual achievement of our-time. It has carried light and order 
into whole branches of human knowledge which before were shrouded 
in darkness and confusion. It has brought a line of argument which 
reaches moral certainty into a region which before was given over to 
random guess-work. Into matters which are for the most part inca- 
pable of strictly external proof it has brought a form of strictly in- 
ternal proof which is more convincing, more unerring.”’ 

Wherever the historian supplements external by internal proof, 
he is in a way to substitute a sociological explanation for historical 
interpretation. It is the very essence of the sociological method to 
be comparative. When, therefore, Freeman uses, in speaking of 
comparative politics, the following language he is speaking in socio- 
logical rather than historical terms: 


For the purposes then of the study of Comparative Politics, a political 
constitution is a specimen to be studied, classified, and labelled, as a building 
or an animal is studied, classified, and labelled by those to whom buildings or 
animals are objects of study. We have to note the likenesses, striking and 
unexpected as those likenesses often are, between the political constitutions 
of remote times and places; and we have, as far as we can, to classify our 
specimens according to the probable causes of those likenesses.? 


Historically sociology has had its origin in history. It owes its 
existence as a science to the attempt to apply exact methods to the 
explanation of historical facts. In the attempt to achieve this, 
however, it has become something quite different from history. It 

has become like psychology with which it is most intimately related, 
a natural and relatively abstract science, and auxiliary to the study 
of history, but not a substitute for it. The whole matter may be 
summed up in this general statement: history interprets, natural 
science explains. It is upon the interpretation of the facts of expe- 
rience that we formulate our creeds and found our faiths. Our. 


t Edward A, Freeman, Comparative Politics (London, 1873), p. 23. 


24 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


explanations of phenomena, on the other hand, are the basis for 
technique and practical devices for controlling nature and human 
nature, man and the physical world. 


V. THE SOCIAL ORGANISM: HUMANITY OR LEVIATHAN ? 


After Comte the first great name in the history of sociology is 
Spencer. It is evident in comparing the writings of these two men 
that, in crossing the English Channel, sociology has suffered a sea 
change. In spite of certain similarities in their points of view there 
are profound and interesting differences. These differences exhibit 
themselves in the different ways in which they use the term “social 
organism.” 

Comte calls society a ‘collective organism” and insists, as Spencer 
does, upon the difference between an organism like a family, which is 
made up of independent individuals, and an organism like a plant or 
an animal, which is a physiological unit in which the different organs 
' are neither free nor conscious. But Spencer, if he points out the 
' differences between the social and the biological organisms, is inter- 
ested in the analogy. Comte, on the other hand, while he recognizes 
the analogy, feels it important to emphasize the distinctions. 

Society for Comte is not, as Lévy-Bruhl puts it, “a polyp.” 
It has not even the characteristics of an animal colony in which the 
individuals are physically bound together, though physiologically 
independent. On the contrary, ‘‘this ‘immense organism’ is espe- 
cially distinguished from other beings in that it is made up of separable 
elements of which each one can feel its own co-operation, can will it, 
or even withhold it, so long as it remains a direct one.’ 

On the other hand, Comte, although he characterized the social 
consensus and solidarity as “collective,” nevertheless thought of 
the relations existing between human beings in society—in the 
family, for example, which he regards as the unit and model of all 
social relations—as closer and more intimate than those which exist 
between the organs of a plant or an animal. The individual, as 
Comte expressed it, is an abstraction. Man exists as man only 
by participation in the life of humanity, and ‘‘although the individual 


tL. Lévy-Bruhl, The Philosophy of Auguste Comte, authorized translation; an 
Introduction by Frederic Harrison (New York, 1903), p. 337. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 25 


elements of society appear to be more separable than those of a living 
being, the social consensus is still closer than the vital.’” 

Thus the individual man was, in spite of his freedom and inde- 
pendence, in a very real sense “‘an organ of the Great Being” and 


the great being was humanity. Under the title of humanity Comte > 


included not merely ‘all living human beings, i.e., the human race, 
but he included all that body of tradition, knowledge, custom, cultural 
ideas and ideals, which make up the social inheritance of the race, an 
inheritance into which each of us is born, to which we contribute, 
and which we inevitably hand on through the processes of education 
and tradition to succeeding generations. This is what Comte meant 
by the social organism. 

If Comte thought of the social organism, the great being, some- 
what mystically as itself an individual and a person, Herbert Spencer, 
on the other hand, thought of it realistically as a great animal, a 
leviathan, as Hobbes called it, and a very low-order leviathan at 
that.? 

Spencer’s manner of looking at the social organism may be illus- 
trated in what he says about growth in “‘social aggregates.” 


When we say that growth is common to social aggregates and organic 


aggregates, we do not thus entirely exclude community with inorganic aggre- \ 


gates. Some of these, as crystals, grow in a visible manner; and all of 
them on the hypothesis of evolution, have arisen by integration at some 
time or other. Nevertheless, compared with things we call inanimate, 
living bodies and societies so conspicuously exhibit augmentation of mass, 
that we may fairly regard this as characterizing them both. Many organ- 
isms grow throughout their lives; and the rest grow throughout considerable 


t [bid., p. 234. 


2 Hobbes’s statement is as follows: ‘‘ For by art is created that great Leviathan 
called a Commonwealth, or State, in Latin Civitas, which is but an artificial man; 
though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and 
defence it was intended; and in which the sovereignty is an artificial soul, as giving 
life and motion to the whole body; the magistrates, and other officers of judicature, 
artificial joints; reward and punishment, by which fastened to the seat of the sover- 
eignty every joint and member is moved to perform his duty, are the nerves, that do 
the same in the body natural.” Spencer criticizes this conception of Hobbes as 
representing society as a “‘factitious” and artificial rather than a ‘‘natural”’ 
product. Herbert Spencer, The Principles of Sociology (London, 1893), I, 437; 
579-80. See also chap. iii, ‘Social Growth,” pp. 453-58. 


26 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


parts of their lives. Social growth usually continues either up to times 
when the societies divide, or up to times when they are overwhelmed. 

Here, then, is the first trait by which societies ally themselves with the 
yrganic world and substantially distinguish themselves from the inorganic 
world.? 


In this same way, comparing the characteristic general features 
of “social”? and “living bodies,” noting likeness and differences, 
particularly with reference to complexity of structure, differentiation 
of function, division of labor, etc., Spencer gives a perfectly naturalistic 
account of the characteristic identities and differences between 
societies and animals, between sociological and biological organiza- 
tions. It is in respect to the division of labor that the analogy 
between societies and animals goes farthest and is most significant. 

This division of labour, first dwelt upon by political economists as a 
social phenomenon, and thereupon recognized by biologists as a phenomenon 
of living bodies, which they called the “physiological division of labour,” 
is that which in the society, as in the animal, makes it a living whole. 
Scarcely can I emphasize enough the truth that in respect of this funda- 
mental trait, a social organism and an individual organism are entirely 
alike. 


The “social aggregate,” although it is “discrete” instead of 
“concrete”—that is to say, composed of spatially separated units— 
is nevertheless, because of the mutual dependence of these units 
upon one another as exhibited in the division of labor, to be regarded 
as a living whole. It is “a living whole” in much the same way that 
the plant and animal communities, of which the ecologists are now 
writing so interestingly, are a living whole; not because of any 
intrinsic relations between the individuals who compose them, but 
because each individual member of the community, finds in the com- 
munity as a whole, a suitable milieu, an environment adapted to 
his needs and one to which he is able to adapt himself. 

Of such a society as this it may indeed be said, that it “exists 
for the benefit of its members, not its members for the benefit of 
society. It has ever to be remembered that great as may be the 
efforts made for the prosperity of the body politic, yet the claims of 
the body politic are nothing in themselves, and become something 


* Herbert Spencer, of. cit., I, 437. 
2 Tbid., p. 440. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 27 


only in so far as they embody the claims of its component indi- 
viduals.’ 

In other words, the social organism, as Spencer sees it, exists 
not for itself but for the benefit of the separate organs of which it 1s 
composed, whereas, in the case of biological organism the situation 
is reversed. There the parts manifestly exist for the whole and not 
the whole for the parts. 

Spencer explains this paradoxical conclusion by the reflection 
that in social organisms sentience is not localized as it is in biological 
organisms. ‘This is, in fact, the cardinal difference between the two. 
There is no soctal sensorium. 


‘In the one (the individual), consciousness is concentrated in a small 
part of the aggregate. In the other (society), it is diffused throughout the 
aggregate: all the units possess the capacities for happiness and misery, if 
not in equal degrees, still in degrees that approximate. As then, there is no 
social sensorium, the welfare of the aggregate, considered apart from that of 
the units, is not an end to be sought. ‘The society exists for the benefit 
of its members; not its members for the benefit of the society.? 


The point is that society, as distinct from the individuals who 
compose it, has no apparatus for feeling pain or pleasure. There 
are no Social sensations. Perceptions and mental imagery are indi- 
vidual and not social phenomena. Society lives, so to speak, only , 
in its separate organs or members, and each of these organs has its 
own brain and organ of control which gives it, among other things, 
the power of independent locomotion. This is what is meant when 
society is described as a collectivity. 


VI. SOCIAL CONTROL AND SCHOOLS OF THOUGHT 


The fundamental problem which Spencer’s paradox raises is 
that of social control. How does a mere collection of individuals 
succeed in acting in a corporate and consistent way? How in the 
case of specific types of social group, for example an animal herd, 
a boys’ gang, or a political party, does the group control its individual 
members; the whole dominate the parts? What are the specific 
sociological differences between plant and animal communities and 
human society? What kind of differences are sociological differences, 


'Ibid., p. 450. 2 Thid., pp. 449-50. 


28 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and what do we mean in general by the expression “sociological” | 
anyway P 

Since Spencer’s essay on the social organism was published in 1860,! 
this problem and these questions, in one form or another, have largely 
absorbed the theoretical interest of students of society. The attempts 
to answer them may be said to have created the existing schools into 
which sociologists are divided. 

A certain school of writers, among them Paul Lilienfeld, Albert 
Schaeffie, and René Worms, have sought to maintain, to extend, or 
modify the biological analogy first advanced by Spencer. In doing 
so they have succeeded sometimes in restating the problem but have 
not solved it. René Worms has been particularly ingenious in dis- 
covering identities and carrying out the parallelism between the social 
and the biological organizations. As a result he has reached the 
conclusion that, as between a social and a biological organism, there 
is no difference of kind but only one of degree. Spencer, who could 
not find a ‘‘social sensorium,”’ said that society was conscious only in 
the individuals who composed it. Worms, on the other hand, declares 
that we must assume the existence of a social consciousness, even 
without a sensorium, because we see everywhere the evidence of its 
existence. 

Force manifests itself by its effects. If there are certain phenomena 
that we can only make intelligible, provided we regard them’as the products 
of collective social consciousness, then we are bound to assume the existence 
of such a consciousness. ‘There are many illustrations . .. . the attitude 
for example, of a crowd in the presence of acrime. Here the sentiment of 
indignation is unanimous. A murderer, if taken in the act, will get summary 
justice from the ordinary crowd. That method of rendering justice, “lynch 
law,” is deplorable, but it illustrates the intensity of the sentiment which, 
at the moment, takes possession of the social consciousness. 

Thus, always in the presence of great and common danger the collective 
consciousness of society is awakened; for example France of the Valois 
after the Treaty of Troyes, or modern France before the invasion of 1791 
and before the German invasion in 1870; or Germany, herself, after the 
victories of NapoleonI. Thissentiment of national unity, born of resistance 
to the stranger, goes so far that a large proportion of the members of society 
do not hesitate to give their lives for the safety and glory of the state; 
at such a moment the individual comprehends that he is only a small part of 


1 Westminster Review, January, 1860. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES ° 29 


a large whole and that he belongs to the collectivity of which he i* a member. 
The proof that he is entirely penetrated by the social consciousness is the 
fact that in order to maintain its existence he is willing to sacrifice his own." 


There is no question that the facts of crowd excitement, of class, 
caste, race, and national consciousness, do show the way in which 
the individual members of a group are, or seem to be, dominated, 
at certain moments and under certain circumstances, by the group as 
a whole. Worms gives to this fact, and the phenomena which 
accompany it, the title “collective consciousness.” This gives the | 
problem a name, to be sure, but not a solution. What the purpose | 
of sociology requires is a description and an explanation. Under 
what conditions, precisely, does this phenomenon of coliective con- 
sciousness arise? What are the mechanisms—physical, pitysiological, 
and social—by which the group imposes its control, or what seems to 
be control, upon the individual members of the group? , 

This question had arisen and been answered by political phi- 
losophers, in terms of political philosophy, long before sociology 
attempted to give an objective account of the matter. Two classic 
phrases, Aristotle’s “Man is a political animal” anc:’Hobbes’s “ War 
of each against all,” omnes bellum omnium, measure the range and 
divergence of the schools upon this topic. 

According to Hobbes, the existing moral and political order— 
that is to say the organization of control—is in any community a 
mere artefact, a control resting on consent, supported by a prudent 
calculation of consequences, and enforced by an external power. 
Aristotle; on the other hand, taught that’man was made for life in 
society just as the bee is made for life in the hive. The relations 
between the sexes, as well as those between mother and child, are | 
manifestly predetermined in the physiological organization of the - | 
individual man and woman. Furthermore, man is, by his instincts 
and his inherited dispositions, predestined to a social existence 
beyond the intimate family circle. Society must be conceived, 
therefore, as a part of nature, like a beaver’s dam or the nests of 
birds. 

As a matter of fact, man and society present themselves in a 
double aspect. They are at the same time products of nature and 


tRené Worms, Organisme et Société, ‘‘Bibliothéque Sociologique Interna- 
tionale” (Paris, 1896), pp. 210-13. 


30 INZRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of humanartifice. Just as a stone hammer in the hand of a savage 
may be regarded as an artificial extension of the natural man, so 
tools, machinery, technical and administrative devices, including 
the formai organization of government and the informal “political 
machine,’) may be regarded as more or less artificial extensions of 
the natural social group. 

So far as this is true, the conflict between Hobbes and Aristotle 
is not absolute. Society is a product both of nature and of design, 
of instinct and of reason. If, in its formal aspect, society is therefore 
an artefacj, it is one which connects up with and has its roots in 
nature and,in human nature. 

This does not explain social control but simplifies the problem 

of corporate action. It makes clear, at any rate, that as members 
of society, men act as they do elsewhere from motives they do not 
fully ieee sehend, in order to fulfil aims of which they are but dimly 
or not at all conscious. Men are activated, in short, not merely by 
interests, in which they are conscious of the end they seek, but also 
by_instincts ad sentiments, the source and meaning of aah they 
do not clearly comprehend. Men work for wages, but they will die 
to preserve their status in society, or commit murder to resent an 
insult. When men act thus instinctively, or under the influence of 
the mores, they are usually quite unconscious of the sources of the 
impulses that animate them or of the ends which are realized 
through their acts. Under the influence of the mores men act 
' typically, and so ReDapeeulaturas not as individuals but as members 
of a group. 
: The simplest type. of. social group in which we may observe 
“social control”’ is in a herd or a flock. The behavior of a herd of 
. cattle is, to be sure, not so uniform nor so simple a matter as it seems 
to the casual observer, but it may be very properly taken as an 
illustration of the sort of follow-the-leader uniformity that is more or 
less characteristic of all social groups. We call the disposition to live 
in the herd and to move in masses, gregar.ousness, and this gregarious- 
ness is ordinarily regarded as an instinct and undoubtedly is pretty 
regally determined in the original nature of gregarious animals. 

There is a school of thought which seeks in the so-called gregari- 
ous instincts an explanation of all that is characteristically social in 
the behavior of human beings. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES Ro 


The cardinal quality of the herd is homogeneity. It is clear that the 
great advantage of the social habit is to enable large numbers to act as one, 
whereby in the case of the hunting gregarious animal strength in pursuit 
and attack is at once increased to beyond that of the creatures preyed upon, 
and in protective socialism the sensitiveness of the new unit to alarms is 
greatly in excess of that of the individual member of the flock. 

To secure these advantages of homogeneity, it is evident that the mem- 
bers of the herd must possess sensitiveness to the behaviour of their fellows. 
The individual isolated will be of no meaning, the individual as a part of 
the herd will be capable of transmitting the most potent impulses. Each 
member of the flock tending to follow its neighbour and in turn to be 
followed, each is in some sense capable of leadership; but no lead will 
be followed that departs widely from normal behaviour. A lead will be 
followed only from its resemblance to the normal. If the leader go so 
far ahead as definitely to cease to be in the herd, he will necessarily be / 
ignored. 

The original in conduct, that is to say, resistiveness to the voice of the 
herd, will be suppressed by natural selection; the wolf which does not follow 
the impulses of the herd will be starved; the sheep which does not respond 
to the flock will be eaten. 

Again, not only will the individual be responsive to impulses coming 
from the herd, but he will treat the herd as his normal environment. The 
impulse to be in and always to remain with the herd will have the strongest 
instinctive weight. Anything which tends to separate him from his fellows, 
as soon as it becomes perceptible as such, will be strongly resisted. 


According to sociologists of this school, public opinion, conscience, 
and authority in the state rest upon the natural disposition of the 
animal in the herd to conform to ‘‘the decrees of the herd.” 


Conscience, then, and the feelings of guilt and of duty are the peculiar 
possessions of the gregarious animal. A dog and a cat caught in the com- 
mission of an offence will both recognize that punishment is coming; but the 
dog, moreover, knows that he has done wrong, and he will come to be 
punished, unwillingly it is true, and as if dragged along by some power 
outside him, while the cat’s sole impulse is to escape. The rational recog- 
nition of the sequence of act and punishment is equally clear to the gregari- 
ous and to the solitary animal, but it is the former only who understands 
that he has committed a crime, who has, in fact, the sense of sin. 


tW. Trotter, Instincts of the Herd in Peace and War (New York, 1916), 
pp. 29-30. 
2 Ibid., pp. 40-41. 


32 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The concept upon which this explanation of society rests is 
homogeneity. If animals or human beings act under all circumstances 
in the same way, they will act or seem to act, as if they had a common 
purpose. If everybody follows the crowd, if everyone wears the 
‘same clothes, utters the same trite remarks, rallies to the same 
battles cries and is everywhere dominated, even in his most char- 
acteristically individual behavior, by an instinctive and passionate 
desire to conform to an external model and to the wishes of the herd, » 
then we have an explanation of everything characteristic of society— 
except the variants, the nonconformists, the idealists, and the rebels. 
The herd instinct may be an explanation of conformity but it does 
not explain variation. Variation is an important fact in society as it 
is in nature generally. 

Homogeneity and like-mindedness are, as explanations of the 
social behavior of men and animals, very closely related concepts. 
In “like response to like stimulus,” we may discern the beginning 
of “concerted action” and this, it is urged, is the fundamental social 
fact. This is the “like-mindedness”’ theory of society which has 
been given wide popularity in the United States through the writings 
of Professor Franklin Henry Giddings. He describes it as a “devel- 
oped form of the instinct theory, dating back to Aristotle’s aphorism | 
that man is a political animal.” 


Any given stimulus may happen to be felt by more than one organism, 
at the same or at different times. ‘Two or more organisms may respond to 
the same given stimulus simultaneously or at different times. They may 
respond to the same given stimulus in like or in unlike ways; in the same or 
in different degrees; with like or with unlike promptitude; with equal or 
with unequal persistence. I have attempted to show that in like response 
to the same given stimulus we have the beginning, the absolute origin, of all 
concerted activity—the inception of every conceivable form of co-operation; 
while in unlike response, and in unequal response, we have the beginning 
of all those processes of individuation, of differentiation, of competition, ' 
which in their endlessly varied relations to combination, to co-operation, 
bring about the infinite complexity of organized Oe 


Closely related, logically if not historically, to Giddings’ con- 
ception of “like-mindedness” is Gabriel Tarde’s conception of 


t Franklin Henry Giddings, The Concepts and Methods of Sociology, Congress of 
Arts and Science, Universal Exposition (St. Louis, 1904), pp. 789-90. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 33 


“imitation. If for Giddings “like response to like stimulus” is the 
fundamental social fact, for Tarde “imitation” is the process through 
which alone society exists. Society, said Tarde, exists in imitation. 
As a matter of fact, Tarde’s doctrine may be regarded as a corollary to 
Giddings’. Imitation is the process by which that like-mindedness, 
by which Giddings explains corporate action, is effected. Men are 
not born like-minded, they are made so by imitation. 

This minute inter-agreement of minds and wills, which forms the basis 
of the social life, even in troublous times—this presence of so many common 
ideas, ends, and means, in the minds and wills of all members of the same 
society at any given moment—is not due, I maintain, to organic heredity, 
which insures the birth of men quite similar to one another, nor to mere 
identity of geographical environment, which offers very similar resources 
to talents that are nearly equal; it is rather the effect of that suggestion- 
imitation process which, starting from one primitive creature possessed of a 
single idea or act, passed this copy on to one of its neighbors, then to another, 
and so on. Organic needs and spiritual tendencies exist in us only as 
potentialities which are realizable under the most diverse forms, in spite of 
their primitive similarity; and, among all these possible realizations, the 
indications furnished by some first initiator who is imitated determine which 
_ one is actually chosen.? 


In contrast with these schools, which interpret action in terms of 
the herd and the flock—i.e., men act together because they act 
alike—is the theory of Emile Durkheim who insists that the social 
group has real corporate existence and that, in htiman societies at 
least, men act together not because they have like purposes but 
a common purpose. This common purpose imposes itself upon the 
individual members of a society at the same time as an ideal, a wish 
and an obligation. Conscience, the sense of obligation which mem- 
bers of a group feel only when there is conflict between the wishes 
of the individual and the will of the group, is a manifestation, 7m the 
individual consciousness, of the collective mind and the group will. 
The mere fact that in a panic or a stampede, human beings will some- 
times, like the Gadarene swine, rush down a steep place into the sea, 
is a very positive indication of like-mindedness but not an evidence of 
a common purpose. The difference between an animal herd and a 
human crowd is that the crowd, what Le Bon calls the “organized 
crowd,” the crowd ‘‘in being” to use a nautical term, is dominated by 


1G. Tarde, op. cit., pp. 38-39. 


4 
| 


/ 
| 


“Stes 


34 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


an impulse to achieve a purpose that is common to every member of 
the group. Men in a state of panic, on the other hand, although 
equally under the influence of the mass excitement, act not corpo- 
rately but individually, each individual wildly seeking to save his 
own skin. Men in a state of panic have like purposes but no 
common purpose. If the “organized crowd,” “the psychological 
crowd,” is a society “in being,” the panic and the stampede is a 
society ‘‘in dissolution.” 

Durkheim does not use these illustrations nor does he express 
himself in these terms. The conception of the “organized” or 
“psychological”? crowd is not his, but Le Bon’s. The fact is that 
Durkheim does not think of a society as a mere sum of particulars. 
Neither does he think of the sentiments nor the opinions which 
dominate the social group as private and subjective. When indi- 
viduals come together under certain circumstances, the opinions and 
sentiments which they held as individuals are modified and changed 


yunder the influence of the new contacts. Out of the fermentation 
‘ which association breeds, a new something (autre chose) is produced, 


an opinion and sentiment, in other words, that is not the sum of, and 
not like, the sentiments and opinions of the individuals from which it 
is derived. This new sentiment and opinion is public, and social, 
and the evidence of this is the fact that it imposes itself upon the 
individuals concerned as something more or less external to them. 
They feel it either as an inspiration, a sense of personal release and 
expansion, or as an obligation, a pressure and an inhibition. The 
characteristic social phenomenon is just this control by the group 
as a whole of the individuals that compose it. This fact of control, 
then, is the fundamental social fact. 

Now society also gives the sensation of a perpetual dependence. Since 
it has a nature which is peculiar to itself and different from our individual 
nature, it pursues ends which are likewise special to it; but, as it cannot 
attain them except through our intermediacy, it imperiously demands our 
aid. It requires that, forgetful of our own interests, we make ourselves 
its servitors, and it submits us to every sort of inconvenience, privation 
and sacrifice, without which social life would be impossible. It is because 
of this that at every instant we are obliged to submit ourselves to rules of 
conduct and of thought which we have neither made nor desired, and which 
are sometimes even contrary to our most fundamental inclinations and 
instincts. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 35 


Even if society were unable to maintain these concessions and sacrifices 
from us except by a material constraint, it might awaken in us only the idea 
of a physical force to which we must give way of necessity, instead of that of 
a moral power such as religions adore. But as a matter of fact, the empire 
which it holds over consciences is due much less to the physical supremacy 
of which it has the privilege than to the moral authority with which it is 
invested. If we yield to its orders, it is not merely because it is strong 
enough to triumph over our resistance; it is primarily because it is the 
object of a venerable respect. 

Now the ways of action to which society is strongly enough attached to 
impose them upon its members, are, by that very fact, marked with a dis- 
tinctive sign provocative of respect. Since they are elaborated in common, 
the vigour with which they have been thought of by each particular mind 
is retained in all the other minds, and reciprocally. The representations 
which express them within each of us have an intensity which no purely 
private states of consciousness could ever attain; for they have the strength 
of the innumerable individual representations which have served to form 
each of them. It is society who speaks through the mouths of those who 
affirm them in our presence; it is society whom we hear in hearing 
them; and the voice of all has an accent which that of one alone could never 
have. ‘The very violence with which society reacts, by way of blame or 
material suppression, against every attempted dissidence, contributes to 
strengthening its empire by manifesting the common conviction through 
this burst of ardour. In a word, when something is the object of such a 
state of opinion, the representation which each individual has of it gains 
a power of action from its origins and the conditions in which it was born, 
which even those feel who do not submit themselves to it. It tends to repel 
the representations which contradict it, and it keeps them at a distance; 
on the other hand it commands those acts which will realize it, and it does 
so, not by a material coercion or by the perspective of something of this 
sort, but by the simple radiation of the mental energy which it contains." 


But the same social forces, which are found organized in public 
opinion, in religious symbols, in social convention, in fashion, and in 
science—for ‘‘if a people did not have faith in science all the scientific 
demonstrations in the world would be without any influence whatso- 
ever over their minds”—are constantly re-creating the old order, 
making new heroes, overthrowing old gods, creating new myths, and 
imposing new ideals. And this is the nature of the cultural process 
of which sociology is a description and an explanation. 


xEmile Durkheim, Elementary Forms of Religious Life (New York, 1015), 
pp. 206-8. 


f 
; 
4 


36 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


VII. SOCIAL CONTROL AND THE COLLECTIVE . MIND 


Durkheim is sometimes referred to, in comparison with other 
contemporary sociologists, as a realist. This is a reference to the 
controversy of the medieval philosophers in regard to the nature of 
concepts. Those who thought a concept a mere class-name applied 
to a group of objects because of some common characteristics were 
called nominalists. Those who thought the concept was real, and 
not the name of a mere collection of individuals, were realists. In 
this sense Tarde and Giddings and all those writers who think of 
society as a collection of actually or potentially like-minded persons 
would be nominalists, while other writers like Simmel, Ratzenhofer, 
and Small, who think of society in terms of interaction and social 
process may be called realists. ‘They are realist, at any rate, in so 
far as they think of the members of a society as bound together in a 
system of mutual influences which has sufficient character to be 


described as a process. 


Naturally this process cannot be conceived of in terms of space 
or physical proximity alone. Social contacts and social forces are of 
a subtler sort but not less real than physical. We know, for example, 
that vocations are largely determined by personal competition; that 
the solidarity of what Sumner calls the “in” or “we” group is largely 
determined by its conflict with the “out” or “other” groups. We 
know, also, that the status and social position of any individual inside 
any social group is-determined by his relation to all other members of 
that group and eventually of all other groups. These are illustrations 
of what is meant concretely by social interaction and social process 
and it is considerations of this kind which seem to justify certain 
writers in thinking of individual persons as “parts” and of society as a 
“whole” in some other sense than that in which a dust heap is a whole 
of which the individual particles are parts. 


Society not only continues to exist by transmission, by communication, 
but it may fairly be said to exist im transmission, 77 communication. There 
is more than a verbal tie between the words common, community, and com- 
munication.? 


Communication, if not identical with, is at least a form of, what 
has been referred to here as social interaction. But communication 


* John Dewey, Democracy and Education (New York, 1916), p. 5. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 37 


as Dewey has defined the term, is something more and different 

than what Tarde calls ‘‘inter-stimulation.” Communication is a) 
process by which we “transmit” an experience from an individual} 
to another but it is also a process by which these same individuals get | 
a common experience. 

Try the experiment of communicating, with fullness and accuracy, some 
experience to another, especially if it be somewhat complicated, and you will 
find your own attitude toward your experience changing; otherwise you 
resort to expletives and ejaculations. Except in dealing with common- 
places and catch phrases one has to assimilate, imaginatively, something of 
another’s experience in order to tell him intelligently of one’s own experience. 
All communication is like art. 


Not only does communication involve the creation, out of experi- 
ences that are individual and private, of an experience that is common 
and public but such a common experience becomes the basis for a 
common and public existence in which every individual, to greater 
or less extent, participates and is himself a part. Furthermore, as a 
part of this common life, there grows up a body of custom, convention, 
tradition, ceremonial, language, social ritual, public opinion, in 
short all that Sumner includes under the term “mores” and all that 
ethnologists include under the term “culture.” 

The thing that characterizes Durkheim and his followers is their 
insistence upon the fact that all cultural’ materials, and expressions, 
including language, science, religion, public opinion, and law, since 
they are the products of social intercourse and social interaction, 
are bound to have an objective, public, and social character such as 
no product of an individual mind either has or can have. Durkheim 
speaks of these mental products, individual and social, as representa- 
tions. The characteristic product of the individual mind is the per- 
cept, or, as Durkheim describes it, the “individual representation.” 
The percept is, and remains, a private and an individual matter. 
No one can reproduce, or communicate to another, subjective impres- 
sions or the mental imagery in the concrete form in which they come 
to the individual himself. My neighbor may be able to read my 
“thoughts” and understand the. motives that impel me to action 
better than I understand myself, but he cannot reproduce the images, 
with just the fringes of sense and feeling with which they come to my 
mind. 

m1 0id., pp. 0-7: 


28 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The characteristic product of a group of individuals, in their 
efforts to communicate is, on the other hand, something objective 
and understood, that is, a gesture, a sign, a symbol, a word, or a 
concept in which an experience or purpose that was private becomes 
public. This gesture, sign, symbol, concept, or representation in 
which a common object is not merely indicated, but in a sense created, 
Durkheim calls a ‘collective representation.” , 

Dewey’s description of what takes place in communication may be 
taken as a description of the process by which these collective repre- 
_ sentations come into existence. “To formulate an experience,” as 
Dewey says, ‘‘requires getting outside of it, seeing it as another would 
see it, considering what points of contact it has with the life of another 
so that it may be gotten into such form that he can appreciate its 
meaning.”” The result of such a conscious effort to communicate 
an experience is to transform it. The experience, after it has been 
communicated, is not the same for either party to the communication. 
To publish or to give publicity to an event is to make of that event 
something other than it was before publication. Furthermore, the 
event as published is still something different from the event as 
reflected in the minds of the individuals to whom the publication is 
addressed. , 

It will be evident upon reflection that public opinion is not the 
, opinion of all, nor even of a majority of the persons who compose a 
' public. As a matter of fact, what we ordinarily mean by public 
opinion is never the opinion of anyone in particular. It is composite 
opinion, representing a general tendency of the public as a whole. 
On the other hand, we recognize that public opinion exists, even 
when we do not know of any individual person, among those who 
compose the public, whose private and personal opinion exactly co- 
incides with that of the public of which he or she is a part. 

Nevertheless, the private and personal opinion of an individual 
who participates in making public opinion is influenced by the opinions 
of those around him, and by public opinion. In this sense every 
opinion is public opinion. 

Public opinion, in respect to the manner in which it is formed and 
the manner in which it exists—that is to say relatively independent 
of the individuals who co-operate to form it—has the characteristics 
of collective representation in general. Collective representations are 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 39 


objective, in just the sense that public opinion is objective, and they 
impose themselves upon the individual as public opinion does, as 
relatively but not wholly external forces—stabilizing, standardizing, 
conventionalizing, as well as stimulating, extending, and generalizing 
individual representations, percepts. 

The collective representations are exterior to the individual conscious- 
ness because they are not derived from the individuals taken in isolation but 
from their convergence and union (concours)..... Doubtless, in the 
elaboration of the common result, each (individual) bears his due share; but 
the private sentiments do not become social except by combining under 
the action of the forces sui generis which association develops. As a result 
of these combinations, and of the mutual alterations which result there- 
from, they (the private sentiments) become something else (autre chose). 
A chemical synthesis results, which concentrates, unifies, the elements 
synthetized, and by that very process transforms them. ... . The result- 
ant derived therefrom extends then beyond (deborde) the individual mind as 
the whole is greater than the’part. To know really what it is, one must 
take the aggregate in its totality. It is this that thinks, that feels, that 
wills, although it may not be able to will, feel, or act save by the inter- 
mediation of individual consciousnesses.! 


This, then, after nearly a century of criticism, is what remains 
of Comte’s conception of the social organism. If society is, as the 
realists insist, anything more than a collection of like-minded indi- 
viduals, it is so because of the existence (1) of a social process and 
(2) of a body of tradition and opinion—the products of this process— 
which has a relatively objective character and imposes itself upon the 
individual as a form of control, social control. This process and its 
product are the social consciousness. ‘The social consciousness, in its 
double aspect as process and product, is the social organism. The 
controversy between the realists and the nominalists reduces itself 
apparently to this question of the objectivity of social tradition and 
of public opinion.. For the present we may let it rest there. 

Meanwhile the conceptions of the social consciousness and the 
social mind have been adopted by writers on social topics who are 
not at all concerned with their philosophical implications or legitimacy. 


t Emile Durkheim, “‘Représentations individuelles et représentations collect- 
ives,” Revue métaphysique, VI (1898), 295. Quoted and translated by Charles 
Elmer Gehlke, “Emile Durkheim’s Contributions to Sociological Theory,” Studies 
in History, Economics, and Public Law, LXIII, 29-30. 


40 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


We are just now seeing the first manifestations of two new types of 
sociology which call themselves, the one rural and the other urban 
sociology. Writers belonging to these two schools are making studies 
of what they call the “rural” and the “urban” minds. In using 
these terms they are not always quite certain whether the mind of 
which they are thinking is a collective mind, in Durkheim’s realistic 
sense of the word, or whether it is the mind of the typical inhabitant of 
a rural or an ean community, an instance of “like- mindedness,” 
in the sense of Giddings and the nominalists. 

A similar usage of the word “mind,” “the American mind,” 
for example, is common in describing characteristic differences in 
the attitudes of different nations and their “nationals.” 


The origin of the phrase, “‘the American mind,” was political. Shortly 
after the middle of the eighteenth century, there began to be a distinctly 
American way of regarding the debatable question of British Imperial 
control. During the period of the Stamp Act agitation our colonial-bred 
politicians and statesmen made the discovery that there was a mode of 
thinking and feeling which was native—or had by that time become a 
second nature—to all the colonists. Jefferson, for example, employs those 
resonant and useful words “‘the American mind” to indicate that throughout 
the American colonies an essential unity of opinion had been developed 
as regards the chief political question of the day. 


Here again, it is not quite clear, whether the American mind is a 
name for a characteristic uniformity in the minds of individual Ameri- 
cans; whether the phrase refers rather to an “essential unity of 
opinion,” or whether, finally, it is intended to cover both the uniform- 
ity and the unity characteristic of American opinion. 

Students of labor problems and of the so-called class struggle, 
on the other hand, use the term “psychology” in much the same 
way that the students of rural and urban sociology use the term 
“mind.” They speak of the “psychology” of the laboring class, 
the “psychology”’ of the capitalistic class, in cases where psychology 
seems to refer indifferently either to the social attitudes of the mem- 
bers of a class, or to attitude and morale of the class as a whole. 

‘The terms “class-conscious” and ‘‘class-consciousness,” ‘‘na- 
tional’ and “‘racial”’ consciousness are now familiar terms to students 
although they seem to have been used, first of all, by the so-called 


ce 


‘Bliss Perry, The American Mind (Boston, 1912), p. 47. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 4! 


“intelligentsia”, who have been the leaders in the various types of 
mass movement to which these terms apply. “Consciousness,” in 
the sense in which it is here used, has a similar, though somewhat 
different, connotation than the word “mind” when applied to a 
group. It is a name not merely for the attitudes characteristic of 
certain races or classes, but for these attitudes when they are in the 
focus of attention of the group, in the “fore-consciousness”’ to use a 
Freudian term. In this sense “conscious” suggests not merely the 
submergence of the individual and the consequent solidarity of the 
group, but it signifies a mental mobilization and preparedness of the 
individual and of the group for collective or corporate action. To 
be class-conscious is to be prepared to act in the sense of that 
class. 

There is implicit in this rather ambiguous popular usage of the 
terms “social mind”’ and ‘‘social consciousness”’ a recognition of the 
dual aspect of society and of social groups. Society may be regarded 
at the same time from an individualistic and a collectivistic point of 
view. Looking at it from the point of view of the individual, we 
regard as social just that character of the individual which has been 
imparted to, and impressed upon, him as a result of his participation in 
the life of the group. Social psychology, from Baldwin’s first studies 
of the development of personality in the child to Ellwood’s studies 
of the society in its “psychological aspects” has been mainly con- 
cerned with the investigation of the effects upon the individual of his 
contacts with other individuals.? 

On the other hand, we have had, in the description of the crowd 
and the public by Le Bon, Tarde, Sighele, and their successors, 
the beginnings of a study of collective behavior and ‘‘corporate 
action.” In these two points of view we seem to have again the 
contrast and the opposition, already referred to, between the nominal- 
istic and realistic conceptions of society. Nominalism represented 
by social psychology emphasizes, or seems to emphasize, the inde- 
pendence of the individual. Realism, represented by collective 
psychology, emphasizes the control of the group over the individual, 
of the whole over the part. 


t James Mark Baldwin, Mental Development in the Child and the Race (New 
York and London, 1895); Charles A. Ellwood, Sociology in Its Psychological 
Aspecis (New York and London, 1912). 


way, 


142 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


While it is true that society has this double aspect, the individual 
and the collective, it is the assumption of this volume that the 
touchstone. of society, the thing that distinguishes a mere collection 
of individuals from a society is not like-mindedness, but corporate 
action. We may apply the term social to any group of individuals 
which is capable of consistent action, that is to say, action, consciously 
or unconsciously, directed to a common end. This existence of a 
common end is perhaps all that can be legitimately included in the 
conception “organic” as applied to society. 

From this point of view social control is the central fact and the 
central problem of society. Just as psychology may be regarded 
as an account of the manner in which the individual organism, as 
a whole, exercises control over its parts or rather of the manner in 
which the parts co-operate together to carry on the corporate existence 
of the whole, so sociology, speaking strictly, is a point of view and a 
method for investigating the processes by which individuals are 
inducted into and induced to co-operate in some sort of permanent 
corporate existence which we call society. | 

To put this emphasis on corporate action is not to overlook the 
fact that through this corporate action the individual member of 
society is largely formed, not to say created. It is recognized, however, 
that if corporate action tends to make of the individual an instrument, 
as well as an organic part, of the social group, it does not do this by 
making him “like” merely; it may do so by making him “different.” 
The division of labor, in making possible an ever larger and wider 
co-operation among men, has indirectly multiplied individual diversi- 


_ ties. What like-mindedness must eventually mean, if it is to mean 
_anything, is the existence of so much of a consensus among the 
‘individuals of a group as will permit the group to act. This, then, 


is what is meant here by society, the social organism and the social 
group. 

Sociology, so far as it can be regarded as a fundamental science 
and not mere congeries of social-welfare programs and practices, 
may be described as the science of collective behavior. With this 
definition it is possible to indicate in a general and schematic way 
its relation to the other social sciences. 

Historically, sociology has had its origin in history. History has 
been and is the great mother science of all the social sciences. Of 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 43 


history it may be said nothing human is foreign to it. Anthro- 
pology, ethnology, folklore, and archaeology have grown up largely, 
if not wholly, to complete the-task which history began and answer 
the questions which historical investigation first raised. In history 
and the sciences associated with it, ie., ethnology, folklore, and 
archaeology, we have the concrete records of that human nature and 
experience which sociology has sought to explain. In the same sense 
that history is the concrete, sociology is the abstract, science of 
human experience and human nature. 

On the other hand, the technical (applied) social sciences, that 
is, politics, education, social service, and economics—so far as eco- 
nomics may be regarded as the science of business—are related to 





Anthropology Ethnology Archaeglogy 


ciolog 


Politics Educatio Social Service conomics 
EIGzat 


sociology in a different way. They are, to a greater or lesser extent, 
applications of principles which it is the business of sociology and of 
psychology to deal with explicitly. In so far as this is true, sociology 
may be regarded as fundamental to the other social sciences. 


VIII. SOCIOLOGY AND SOCIAL RESEARCH 


Among the schools which, since Comte and Spencer, have divided 
sociological thinking between them the realists have, on the whole, 
maintained the tradition of Comte; the nominalists, on the other 
hand, have preserved the style and manner, if not the substance, of 
Spencer’s thought. Later writers, however, realist as well as nominal- 
ist, have directed their attention less to society than to societies, i.e., 
social groups; they have been less interested in social progress than 


44 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in social process; more concerned with social problems than with 
social philosophy. 

This change marks the transformation of sociology from a 
philosophy of history to a science of society. The steps in this 
transition are periods in the history of the science, that is: 

1. The period of Comte and Spencer; sociology, conceived in 
the grand style, is a philosophy of history, a “science” of progress 
(evolution). 

2. The period of the “‘schools’’; sociological thought, dispersed 
among the various schools, is absorbed in an effort to define its point 
of view and to describe the kinds of facts that sociology must look for 
to answer the questions that sociology asks. 

3. The period of investigation and research, the period into 
which sociology is just now entering. 

Sociological research is at present (1921) in about the situation 
in which psychology was before the introduction of laboratory 
methods, in which medicine was before Pasteur and the germ theory 
of disease. A great deal of social information has been collected 
merely for the purpose of determining what to do in a given case. 
Facts have not been collected to check social theories. Social prob- 
lems have been defined in terms of common sense, and facts have 
been collected, for the most part, to support this or that doctrine, 
not to test it. In very few instances have investigations been made, 
disinterestedly, to determine the validity of a hypothesis. 

Charles Booth’s studies of poverty in London, which extended 
over eighteen years and were finally embodied in seventeen volumes, 
is an example of such a disinterested investigation. It is an attempt 
to put to the test of fact the popular conception of the relation between 
wages and welfare. He says: 


My object has been to attempt to show the numerical relation which 
poverty, misery, and depravity bear to regular earnings and comparative 
comfort, and to describe the general conditions under which each class lives. 

If the facts thus stated are of use in helping social reformers to find 
remedies for the evils which exist, or do anything to prevent the adoption of 
false remedies, my purpose is answered. It was not my intention to bring 
forward any suggestions of my own, and if I have ventured here and there, 
and especially in the concluding chapters, to go beyond my programme, it 
has been with much hesitation. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 45 


With regard to the disadvantages under which the poor labour, and the 
evils of poverty, there is a great sense of helplessness: the wage earners are 
helpless to regulate their work and cannot obtain a fair equivalent for the 
labour they are willing to give; the manufacturer or dealer can only work 
within the limits of competition; the rich are helpless to relieve want without 
stimulating its sources. ‘To relieve this helplessness a better stating of the 
problems involved is the first step... .. In this direction must be sought 
the utility of my attempt to analyze the population of a part of London.? 


This vast study did, indeed, throw great light, not only upon 
poverty in London, but upon human nature in general. On the 
other hand, it raised more questions than it settled and, if it demon- 
strated anything, it was the necessity, as Booth suggests, for a 
restatement of the problem. 

Sociology seems now, however, in a way to become, in some 
fashion or other, an experimental science. It will become so as soon - 
as it can state existing problems in such a way that the results in one 
case will demonstrate what can and should be done in another. 
Experiments are going on in every field of social life, in industry, 
in politics, and in religion. In all these fields men are guided by some 
implicit or explicit theory of the situation, but this theory is not often 
stated in the form of a hypothesis and subjected to a test of the 
negative instances. We have, if it is permitted to make a distinction 
between them, investigation rather than research. 

What, then, in the sense in which the expression is here used, is 
social research? A classification of problems will be a sort of first 
aid in the search for an answer. 

1. Classification of social problems.—Every society and every 
social group, capable of consistent action, may be regarded as an 
organization of the wishes of its members. ‘This means that society - 
rests on, and embodies, the appetites and natural desires of the 
individual man; but it implies, also, that wishes, in becoming organ- 
ized, are necessarily disciplined and controlled in the interest of the 
group as a whole. 

Every such society or social group, even the most ephemeral, 
will ordinarily have (a) some relatively formal method of defining 
its aim and formulating its policies, making them explicit, and (b) some 
machinery, functionary, or other arrangement for realizing its aim 


* Labour and Life of the People (London, 1889), I, pp. 6-7. 


46 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and carrying its policies into effect. Even in the family there is 
government, and this involves something that corresponds to legis- 
lation, adjudication, and administration. 

Social groups, however, maintain their organizations, agencies, 
and all formal methods of behavior on a basis and in a setting of 
instinct, of habit, and of tradition which we call human nature. 
Every social group has, or tends to have, its own culture, what 
Sumner calls ‘“‘folkways,”’ and this culture, imposing its patterns 
upon the natural man, gives him that particular individuality which 
characterizes the members of groups. Not races merely but nationali- 
ties and classes have marks, manners, and patterns of life by which 
we infallibly recognize and classify them. 

Social problems may be conveniently classified with reference 
to these three aspects of group life, that is to say, problems of (a) 
organization and administration, (b) policy and polity (legislation), 
and (c) human nature (culture). 

a) Administrative problems are mainly practical and technical. 
Most problems of government, of business and social welfare, are 
technical. The investigations, i.e., social surveys, made in different 
parts of the country by the Bureau of Municipal Research of New 
York City, are studies of local administration made primarily for 
the purpose of improving the efficiency of an existing administrative 
machine and its personnel rather than of changing the policy or 
purpose of the administration itself. 

b) Problems of policy, in the sense in which that term is used 
here, are political and legislative. Most social investigations in 
recent years have been made in the interest of some legislative pro- 
gram or for the purpose of creating a more intelligent public opinion 
in regard to certain local problems. ‘The social surveys conducted 
by the Sage Foundation, as distinguished from those carried out by 
the New York Bureau of Municipal Research, have been concerned 
with problems of policy, i.e., with changing the character and policy 
of social institutions rather than improving their efficiency. This 
distinction between administration and policy is not always clear, 
but it is always important. Attempts at reform usually begin with 
an effort to correct administrative abuses, but eventually it turns 
out that reforms must go deeper and change the character of the 
institutions themselves. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 47 


c) Problems of human nature are naturally fundamental to 
all other social problems. Human nature, as we have begun to 
conceive it in recent years, is largely a product of social intercourse; 
it is, therefore, quite as much as society itself, a subject for sociological 
investigation. Until recent years, what we are now calling the 
human factor has been notoriously neglected in most social experi- 
ments. We have been seeking to reform human nature while at the 
same time we refused to reckon with it. It has been assumed that 
we could bring about social changes by merely formulating our wishes, 
that is, by “arousing” public opinion and formulating legislation. 
This is the ‘‘democratic”? method of effecting reforms. The older 
“autocratic”? method merely decreed social changes upon the author- 
ity of the monarch or the ruling class. What reconciled men to it 
was that, like Christian Science, it frequently worked. 


The oldest but most persistent form of social technique is that of 
“ordering-and-forbidding’’—that is, meeting a crisis by an arbitrary act 
of will decreeing the disappearance of the undesirable or the appearance of © 
the desirable phenomena, and the using arbitrary physical action to enforce 
the decree. This method corresponds exactly to the magical phase of 
_ natural technique. In both, the essential means of bringing a determined 
effect is more or less consciously thought to reside in the act of will itself 
by which the effect is decreed as desirable and of which the action is merely 
an indispensable vehicle or instrument; in both, the process by which the 
cause (act of will and physical action) is supposed to bring its effect to 
realization remains out of reach of investigation; in both, finally, if the 
result is not attained, some new act of will with new material accessories is 
introduced, instead of trying to find and remove the perturbing causes. A 
good instance of this in the social field is the typical legislative procedure 
of today.? 


/ \ 2. Types of social group.—The varied interests, fields of investi- 
’ gation, and practical programs which find at present a place within 
the limits of the sociological discipline are united in having one 
common object of reference, namely, the concept of the social group. 
All social problems turn out finally to be problems of group life, 
although each group and each type of group has its own distinctive 


t Thomas and Znaniecki, The Polish Peasant in Europe and America (Boston, 
1918), I, 3. 


48 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


problems. Illustrations may be gathered from the most widely 
separated fields to emphasize the truth of this assertion.’ 

Religious conversion may be interpreted from one point of view 
as a change from one social group to another. To use the language 
of religious sentiment, the convert ‘“‘comes out of a life of sin and 
enters into a life of grace.” To be sure, this change involves pro- 
found disturbances of the personality, but permanence of the change 
in the individual is assured by the breaking up of the old and the 
establishment of new associations. So the process by which the 
immigrant makes the transition from the old country to the new 
involves profound changes in thought and habit. In his case the 
change is likely to take place slowly, but it is not less radical on that 
account. 

The following paragraph from a recent social survey illustrates, 
from a quite different point of view, the manner in which the group 
is involved in changes in community life. 

In short, the greatest problem for the next few years in Stillwater is the 
development of a community consciousness. We must stop thinking in 
terms of city of Stillwater, and country outside of Stillwater, and think in 
terms of Stillwater Community. We must stop thinking in terms of small 
groups and think in terms of the entire community, no matter whether it is 
industry, health, education, recreation or religion. Anything which is 
good will benefit the entire community. Any weakness will be harmful to 
all. Community co-operation in all lines indicated in this report will make 
this, indeed, the Queen of the St. Croix.? 


In this case the solution of the community problem was the 
creation of “‘community consciousness.” In the case of the pro- 
fessional criminal the character of the problem is determined, if 
we accept the description of a writer in the Aélantic Monthly, by 
the existence among professional criminals of a primary group con- 
sciousness: 

The professional criminal is peculiar in the sense that he lives a very 
intense emotional life. He is isolated in the community. He is in it, but 
not of it. His social life—for all men are social—is narrow; but just 
because it is narrow, it is extremely tense. He lives a life of warfare and has 

™ Walter B. Bodenhafer, ‘“The Comparative Réle of the Group Concept in 
Ward’s Dynamic Sociology and Contemporary American Sociology,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XXVI (1920-21), 273-314; 425-74; 588-600; 716-43. 

2 Stillwater, the Queen of the St. Croix, a report of a social survey, published by 
The Community Service of Stillwater, Minnesota, 1920, p. 71. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 49 


the psychology of the warrior. He is at war with the whole community. 
Except his very few friends in crime he trusts no one and fears everyone. 
Suspicion, fear, hatred, danger, desperation and passion are present in a 
more tense form in his life than in that of the average individual. He is 
restless, ill-humored, easily roused and suspicious. He lives on the brink 
of a deep precipice. This helps to explain his passionate hatred, his brutal- 
ity, his fear, and gives poignant significance to the adage that dead men tell 
no tales. He holds on to his few friends with a strength and passion rare 
among people who live a more normal existence. His friends stand between 
him and discovery. They are his hold upon life, his basis of security. 

Loyalty to one’s group is the basic law in the underworld. Disloyalty is 
treason and punishable by death; for disloyalty may mean the destruction 
of one’s friends; it may mean the hurling of the criminal over the precipice 
on which his whole life is built. 

To the community the criminal is aggressive. To the criminal his life is 
one of defense primarily. The greater part of his energy, of his hopes, and 
of his successes, centres around escapes, around successful flight, around 
proper covering-up of his tracks, and around having good, loyal, and trust- 
worthy friends to participate in his activities, who will tell no tales and keep 
the rest of the community outside. The criminal is thus, from his own 
point of view—and I am speaking of professional criminals—living a life 
of defensive warfare with the community; and the odds are heavy against 
him. He therefore builds up a defensive psychology against it—a psy- 
chology of boldness, bravado, and self-justification. The good criminal— 
which means the successful one, he who has most successfully carried 
through a series of depradations against the enemy, the common enemy, 
the public—isahero. He is recognized as such, toasted and feasted, trusted 
and obeyed. But always by a little group. They live in a world of their 
own, a life of their own, with ideals, habits, outlook, beliefs, and associations 
which are peculiarly fitted to maintain the morale of the group. Loyalty, 
fearlessness, generosity, willingness to sacrifice one’s self, perseverance in the 
face of prosecution, hatred of the common enemy—these are the elements 
that maintain the morale, but all of them are pointed against the community 
as a whole.? 


The manner in which the principle of the primary group was 
applied at Sing Sing in dealing with the criminal within the prison 
walls is a still more interesting illustration of the fact that social 
problems are group problems.? 


t Frank Tannenbaum, “Prison Democracy,” Aélantic Monthly, October, 1920, 
pp. 438-39. (Psychology of the criminal group.) 


2 Ibid., pp. 443-46. 


5° INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Assuming, then, that every social group may be presumed to 
have its own (a) administrative, (0) legislative, and (c) human-nature 
problems, these problems may be still further classified with reference 
to the type of social group. Most social groups fall naturally into 
one or the other of the following classes: : 

a) The family. 

b) Language (racial) groups. 

c) Local and territorial communities: (i) neighborhoods, (ii) rural 
communities, (iii) urban communities. 

d) Conflict groups: (i) nationalities, (ii) parties, (iii) sects, (iv) 
labor organizations, (v) gangs, etc. 

e) Accommodation groups: (i) classes, (ii) castes, (iii) vocational, 
(iv) denominational groups. 

The foregoing classification is not quite adequate nor wholly 
logical. The first three classes are more closely related to one another 
than they are to the last two, 1.e., the so-called “accommodation” 
and ‘‘conflict” groups. ‘The -distinction is far-reaching, but its 
general character is indicated by the fact that the family, language, 
and local groups are, or were originally, what are known as primary 
groups, that is, groups organized on intimate, face-to-face relations. 
The conflict and accommodation groups represent divisions which 
may, to be sure, have arisen within the primary group, but which 
have usually arisen historically by the imposition of one primary 
group upon another. 


Every state in history was or is a state of classes, a polity of superior and 
inferior social groups, based upon distinctions either of rank or of se! 
This phenomenon must, then, be called the “‘State.”? 


It is the existence at any rate of conflict and accommodation 
within the limits of a larger group which distinguishes it from groups 
based on primary relations, and gives it eventually the character 
described as ‘‘secondary.” 

When a language group becomes militant and self-conscious, 
it assumes the character of a nationality. It is perhaps true, also, 
that the family which is large enough and independent enough to 
be self-conscious, by that fact assumes the character of a clan. 
Important in this connection is the fact that a group in becoming 


* Franz Oppenheimer, The State (Indianapolis, 1914), p. 5. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 5i 


group-conscious changes its character. External conflict has invari- 
ably reacted powerfully upon the internal organization of social groups. 

Group self-consciousness seems to be a common characteristic of 
conflict and accommodation groups and distinguishes them from the 
more elementary forms of society represented by the family and the 
local community. 

3. Organization and structure of social groups.—Having a general 
scheme for the classification of social groups, it is in order to discover 
methods of analysis that are applicable to the study of all types of 
groups, from the family to the sect. Such a scheme of analysis 
should reveal not only the organization and structure of typical groups, 
but it should indicate the relation of this organization and structure 
to those social problems that are actual and generally recognized. 
The sort of facts which are now generally recognized as important 
in the study, not merely of society, but the problems of society are: 

a) Statistics: numbers, local distribution, mobility, incidence 
of births, deaths, disease, and crime. 

b) Institutions: local distribution, classification (i.e., (i) indus- 
trial, (ii) religious, (iii) political, (iv) educational, (v) welfare and 
mutual aid), communal organization. 

c) Heritages: the customs and traditions transmitted by the 
group, particularly in relation to religion, recreation and leisure time, 
and social control (politics). 

d) Organization of public opinion: parties, sects, cliques, and 
the press. 

4. Social process and social progress.—Social process is the name 
for all changes which can be regarded as changes in the life of the group. 
A group may be said to have a life when it has a history. Among 
social processes we may distinguish (a) the historical, (b) the cultural, 
(c) the political, and (d) the economic. 

a) We describe as historical the processes by which the fund 
of social tradition, which is the heritage of every permanent social 
group, is accumulated and transmitted from one generation to another. 

History plays the réle in the group of memory in the individual. 
Without history social groups would, no doubt, rise and decline, 
but they would neither grow old nor make progress. 

Immigrants, crossing the ocean, leave behind them much of their 
local traditions. The result is that they lose, particularly in the 


52 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


second generation, that control which the family and group tradition 
formerly exercised over them; but they are, for that very reason, 
all the more open to the influence of the traditions and customs of 
their adopted country. 

b) If it is the function of the historical process to accumulate 
and conserve the common fund of social experience, it is the function 
of the cultural process to shape and define the social forms and the 
social patterns which each preceding generation imposes upon its 
SUCCESSOTS. 

The individual living in society has to fit into a pre-existing social world, 
to take part in the hedonistic, economic, political, religious, moral, aesthetic, 
intellectual activities of the group. For these activities the group has 
objective systems, more or less complex sets of schemes, organized either by 
traditional association or with a conscious regard to the greatest possible 
efficiency of the result, but with only a secondary, or even with no interest 
in the particular desires, abilities and experiences of the individuals who 
have to perform these activities. 

There is no pre-existing harmony whatever between the individual and 
the social factors of personal evolution, and the fundamental tendencies of 
the individual are always in some disaccordance with the fundamental 
tendencies of social control. Personal evolution is always a struggle 
between the individual and society—a struggle for self-expression on the part 
of the individual, for his subjection on the part of society—and it is in the 
total course of this struggle that the personality—not as a static “‘essence”’ 
but as a dynamic, continually evolving set of activities—manifests and 
constructs itself.? 


c) In general, standards of behavior that are in the mores are not 
the subject of discussion, except so far as discussion is necessary to 
determine whether this or that act falls under one or the other of the 
accepted social sanctions. The political as distinguished from the 
cultural process is concerned with just those matters in regard to 
which there is division and difference. Politics is concerned with 
issues. 

The Negro, particularly in the southern states, is a constant 
theme of popular discussion. Every time a Negro finds himself in a 
new situation, or one in which the white population is unaccustomed 
to see him, the thing provokes comment in both races. On the other 
hand, when a southerner asks the question: ‘Would you want your 


™ Thomas and Znaniecki, of. cit., III, 34-36. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 53 


daughter to marry a Negro?’’ it is time for discussion to cease. Any 
questions of relations between the races can always be immediately 
disposed of as soon as it is seen to come, directly or indirectly, under 
the intolerable formula. Political questions are matters of com- 
promise and expediency. Miscegenation, on the other hand, is 
contrary to the mores. As such the rule against it is absolute. 

The political process, by which a society or social group formulates 
its wishes and enforces them, goes on within the limits of the mores 
and is carried on by public discussion, legislation, and the adjudication 
of the courts. 

d) The economic process, so far as it can be distinguished from the 
production and distribution of goods, is the process by which prices 
are made and an exchange of values is effected. Most values, Le., 
my present social status, my hopes of the future, and memory of the 
past, are personal and not values that can be exchanged. The 
economic process is concerned with values that can be treated as 
commodities. 

All these processes may, and do, arise within most but not every 
society or social group. Commerce presupposes the freedom of the 
individual to pursue his own profit, and commerce can take place only 
to the extent and degree that this freedom is permitted. Freedom 
of commerce is, however, limited on the one hand by the mores and 
on the other by formal law, so that the economic process takes place 
ordinarily within limitations that are defined by the cultural and the 
political processes. It is only where there is neither a cultural nor a 
political order that commerce is absolutely free. 

The areas of (1) the cultural, (2) the political, (3) the economic 
processes and their relations to one another may be represented by 
concentric circles. 

In this representation the area of widest cultural influences is 
coterminous with the area of commerce, because commerce in its 
widest extension is invariably carried on under some restraints of 
custom and customary law. Otherwise it is not commerce at all, 
but something predacious outside the law. But if the area of the 
economic process is almost invariably coterminous with the widest 
areas of cultural influence, it does not extend to the smaller social 
groups. As a rule trade does not invade the family. Family inter- 
ests are always personal even when they are carried on under the 


54 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


forrus of commerce. Primitive society, within the limits of the 
village, is usually communistic. All values are personal, and the 
relations of individuals to one another, economic or otherwise, are 
preordained by custom and law. 

The impersonal values, values for exchange, seem to be in any 
given society or social group in inverse relation to the personal values. 

The attempt to describe in this large way the historical, cultural, 
political, and economic processes, is justified in so far as it enables 
us to recognize that the aspects of social life, which are the subject- 
matter of the special social sciences, i.e., history, political science, 
and economics, are involved in specific forms of change that can 





Fic. 2 


a=area of most extended cultural influences and of commerce; b=area 
of formal political control; ¢=area of purely personal relationships, communism. 


be viewed abstractly, formulated, compared, and related. The 
attempt to view them in their interrelations is at the same time an 
effort to distinguish and to see them as parts of one whole. 

In contrast with the types of social change referred to there are 
other changes which are unilateral and progressive; changes which 
are described popularly as ‘‘movements,’’ mass movements. ‘These 
are changes which eventuate in new social organizations and insti- 
tutions. 

All more marked forms of social change are associated with certain 
social manifestations that we call social unrest. Social unrest issues, 
under ordinary conditions, as an incident of new social contacts, and 
is an indication of a more lively tempo in the process of communica- 
tion and interaction. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 55 


All social changes are preceded by a certain degree of social and 
individual disorganization. This will be followed ordinarily under 
normal conditions by a movement of reorganization. All progress 
implies a certain amount of disorganization. In studying social 
changes, therefore, that, if not progressive, are at least unilateral, 
we are interested in: 

(x) Disorganization: accelerated mobility, unrest, disease, and 
crime as manifestations and measures of social disorganization. 

(2) Social movements (reorganization) include: (a) crowd move- 
ments (i.e., mobs, strikes, etc.); (0) cultural revivals, religious and 
linguistic; (c) fashion (changes in dress, convention, and social ritual) ; 
(d) reform (changes in social policy and administration); (e) revolu- 
tions (changes in institutions and the mores). 

5. The individual and the person.—The_person_is an individual 
who has status. We come into the world as individuals. We 
acquire status, and become persons. Status means position in society. 
The individual inevitably has some status in every social group of 
which he isa member. In a given group the status of every member 
is determined by his relation to every other member of that group. 
Every smaller group, likewise, has a status in some larger group of 
which it is a part and this is determined by its relation to all the 
other members. of the larger group. 

The individual’s self-consciousness—his conception of his rdle 
in society, his “self,” in short—while not identical with his person- 
ality is an essential element in it. The individual’s conception of 
himself, however, is based on his status in the social group or groups 
of which he isa member. ‘The individual whose conception of himself 
does not conform to his status is an isolated individual. The com- 
pletely isolated individual, whose conception of himself is in no 
sense an adequate reflection of his status, is probably insane. 

It follows from what is said that an individual may have many 
“selves”? according to the groups to which he belongs and the extent 
to which each of these groups is isolated from the others. It is true, 
also, that the individual is influenced in differing degrees and in a 
specific manner, by the different types of group of which he is a 
member. ‘This indicates the manner in which the personality of the 
individual may be studied sociologically. 


\ 


: 
; 


; 


—— 


56 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Every individual comes into the world in possession of certain 
characteristic and relatively fixed behavior patterns which we call 
instincts. ‘This is his racial inheritance which he shares with all 
members of the species. He comes into the world, also, endowed 
with certain undefined capacities for learning other forms of behavior, 
capacities which vary greatly in different individuals. These indi- 
vidual differences and the instincts are what is called original nature.’ 

Sociology is interested in ‘original nature”’ in so far as it supplies 
the raw materials out of which individual personalities and the social 
order are created. Both society and the persons who compose society 
are the products of social processes working in and through the 
materials which each new generation of men contributes to it. 

Charles Cooley, who was the first to make the important dis- 
tinction between primary and secondary groups, has pointed out that 
the intimate, face-to-face associations of primary groups, i.e., the 
family, the neighborhood, and the village community, are funda- 
mental in forming the social nature and ideals of the individual.? 

There is, however, an area of life in which the associations are 
more intimate than those of the primary group as that group is 
ordinarily conceived. Such are the relations between mother and 
child, particularly in the period of infancy, and the relations between 
men and women under the influence of the sexual instinct. ‘These are 
the associations in which the most lasting affections and the most 
violent antipathies are formed. We may describe it as the area of 
touch relationships. 

Finally, there is the area of secondary contacts, in which relation- 
ships are relatively impersonal, formal, and conventional. It is in 
this region of social life that the individual gains, at the same time, a 
personal freedom and an opportunity for distinction that is denied him 
in the primary group. 

As a matter of fact, many, if not most, of our present social 
problems have their source and origin in the transition of great masses 
of the population—the immigrants, for example—out of a society 


t Original nature in its relation to social welfare and human progress has 
been made the subject-matter of a special science, eugenics. For a criticism of 
the claims of eugenics as a social science see Leonard T. Hobhouse, Social Evolu- 
tion and Political Theory (Columbia University Press, 1917). 


2 Charles H. Cooley, Social Organization, p. 28. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 57 


based on primary group relationships into the looser, freer, and less 
controlled existence of life in great cities. 


The “moral unrest” so deeply penetrating all western societies, the 
growing vagueness and indecision of personalities, the almost complete 
disappearance of the ‘‘strong and steady character” of old times, in short, 
the rapid and general increase of Bohemianism and Bolshevism in all 
societies, is an effect of the fact that not only the early primary group 
controlling all interests of its members on the general social basis, not only 
the occupational group of the mediaeval type controlling most of the inter- 
ests of its members on a professional basis, but even the special modern 
group dividing with many others the task of organizing permanently the 
attitudes of each of its members, is more and more losing ground. The 
pace of social evolution has become so rapid that special groups are ceasing 
to be permanent and stable enough to organize and maintain organized 
complexes of attitudes of their members which correspond to their common 
pursuits. In other words, society is gradually losing all its old machinery 
for the determination and stabilization of individual characters.' 


Every ‘social group tends to create, from the individuals that 
compose it, its own type of character, and the characters thus formed 
become component parts of the social structure in which they are 
incorporated. All the problems of social life are thus problems of the 
individual; and all problems of the individual are at the same time 
problems of the group. This point of view is already recognized in 
preventive medicine, and to some extent in psychiatry. It is not 
yet adequately recognized in the technique of social case work. 

Further advance in the application of social principles to social 
practice awaits a more thoroughgoing study of the problems, syste- 
matic social research, and an experimental social science. 


REPRESENTATIVE WORKS IN SYSTEMATIC SOCIOLOGY 
AND METHODS OF SOCIOLOGICAL RESEARCH 


I. THE SCIENCE OF PROGRESS 





(1) Comte, Auguste. Cours de philosophie positive, 5th ed. 6 vols. Paris, 
1892. 

(2) Positive Philosophy. ‘Translated by Harriet Martineau, 3d 
ed. London, 1893. 

(3) Spencer, Herbert. Principles of Sociology, 3d ed. 3 vols. New 
York, 1906. 
t Thomas and Znaniecki, op. cit., III, 63-64. 


58 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(4) Schaeffle, Albert. Bau und Leben des socialen Kérpers. 2d ed., 2 vols. 
Tuebingen, 1806. 

(5) Lilienfeld, Paul von. Gedanken iiber die Socialwissenschaft der Zukunft. 
5 vols. Mitau, 1873-81. 

(6) Ward, Lester F. Dynamic Sociology. 2 vols. New York, 1883. . 

(7) DeGreef, Guillaume. Jntroduction ala sociologie. 3 vols. Paris, 1886. 

(8) Worms, René. Organisme et société. Paris, 1896. 


II. THE SCHOOLS 
A. Realists 

(1) Ratzenhofer, Gustav. Djve sociologische Erkenninis. Leipzig, 1808. 

(2) Small, Albion W. General Sociology. Chicago, 1905. 

(3) Durkheim, Emile. De la Division du travail social. Paris, 1803. 

(4) Simmel, Georg. Soztologie. Untersuchungen iiber die Formen der 
Vergesellschaftung. Leipzig, 1908. 

(5) Cooley, Charles Horton. Social Organization. A study of the 
larger. mind. New York, 1909. 

(6) Ellwood, Charles A. Sociology in Its Psychological Aspects. New 
York and London, 1gi2. 


B. Nominalists 
(1) Tarde, Gabriel. Les Lois de limitation. Paris, 1895. 
(2) Giddings, Franklin H. The Principles of Sociology. ‘New York, 
1896. 
(3) Riss EdwardAlsworth. The Principles of pgs New York, 1920. 


C. Collective Behavior 
(1) Le Bon, Gustave. The Crowd. A study of the popular mind. 
New York, 1903. 
(2) Sighele, Scipio. Psychologie des sectes. Paris, 1898. 
(3) Tarde, Gabriel. L’Opinion et la foule. Paris, 1901. 
(4) McDougall, William. The Group Mind. Cambridge, 1920. 
(5) Vincent, George E. The Social Mind and Education. New York, 
1897. 
III. METHODS OF SOCIOLOGICAL INVESTIGATION 
A. Critical Observation on Methods of Research 
; (r) Small, Albion W. The Meaning of Social Science. Chicago, 1910. 
(2) Bridges, J. H. Illustrations of Positivism. ‘Methods of Research,” 
pp. 92-104. Chicago, 1915. 
(3) ayes Emile. Les Régles de la méthode sociologique. Paris, 


QO4. 

(4) aie ee W.I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe 
and America. ‘“‘Methodological Note,” I, 1-86. 5 vols. Boston, 
1918-20. 


B. Studies of Communities 


(1) Booth, Charles. Labour and Life of the People: London. 2 vols. 
London, r8o1. 

(2) Booth, Charles. Life and Labour of the People in London. 4g vols. 
London, 1892-97. 8 additional vols. London, 1902. 


C. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 59 


(3) The Pittsburgh Survey. Edited by Paul U. Kellogg. 6 vols. 
Russell Sage. Foundation. New York, 1909-14. 

(4) The Springfield Survey. Edited by Shelby M. Harrison. 3 vols. 
Russell Sage Foundation. New York, 1918-20. 

(5) Criminal Justice in Cleveland. Reports of the Cleveland Foundation 
survey of the administration of criminal justice in Cleveland, Ohio. 
Directed by Roscoe Pound and Felix Frankfurter. Cleveland, 1922. 

(6) Geddes, Patrick. Cities in Evolution. An introduction to the 
town-planning movement and to the study of civics. London, rors. 


Studies of the Individual 

(1) Healy, William. The Individual Delinquent. Boston, 1015. 

(2) Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe 
and America. “Life Record of an Immigrant,” Vol. III. Boston, 


IQIQ. 

(3) Thomas, W. I. The Unadjusted Girl. With cases and standpoint 
for behavior analysis. Especially chap. vi, ‘‘The Measurement of 
Social Influence,” pp. 222-57. Boston, 1923. 

(4) Healy, William, and Bronner, Augusta F. Judge Baker Foundation 
Case Studies, Series I. Boston, 1922-23. 

(5) The Equipment of the Workers. An enquiry into the adequacy of 
the adult manual workers of Sheffield for the discharge of their 
responsibilities as heads of households, producers, and citizens. 
London, tgt9. 


D. Studies of Public Opinion 


E. 


(1) Americanization Studies. Allen T. Burns, director. 10 vols. 
New York, 1920-23. 

(2) The Negro in Chicago. A study of race relations and a race riot. 
By the Chicago Commission on Race Relations. Chicago, 1922. 


Field Studies 
(1) Chapin, F. Stuart. Field Work and Social Research. New York, 


1920. 

(2) Richmond, Mary. Social Diagnosis. Russell Sage Foundation. 
New York, 1917. 

(3) Vignes, J.-B.-Maurice. La Science Sociale. D’aprés les principes 
de Le Play et de ses continuateurs. Paris, 1897. 

(4) Rowntree, B. Seebohm. Poverty. A study of town life. London, 
IQOI. : 

(5) Webb, Sidney and Beatrice. Industrial Democracy. Preface, 
pp. xxlli-xxxli. [London, 1920. ‘“‘A brief account of the methods 
of investigation.’’] 

(6) Webb, Sidney and Beatrice. Problems of Modern Industry. Chap. i, 
‘“The Diary of an Investigator,” pp. 1-19. London, 1808. 

(7) Wissler, Clark. Man and Culture. Chap. iv, ‘‘The Content of 
Culture,” pp. 47-72; chap. v, “The Universal Pattern,” pp. 73-08. 
[Defines ‘‘culture trait, complex, type, area, center, trait-complexes.’’] 
New York, 1923. ; 

(8) Lindeman, Eduard C. Social Discovery. An approach to the 
study of functional groups. New York, 1924. 


60 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


IV. PERIODICALS 


(1) American Journal of Sociology. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 
1896-. 

(2) American Sociological Society, Papers and Proceedings. Chicago, 
University of Chicago Press, 1907-. 

(3) Annales de V’institut international de sociologie. Paris, M. Giard et Cie., 
1895-. 

(4) L’ Année sociologique. Paris, F. Alcan, 1898-1912. 

(5) Chinese Journal of Sociology. Peking, University of Peking, 1921-. 

(6) Indian Sociological Review. Lucknow, Lucknow University Sociologi- 
cal Association, 1923-. 

(7) Journal of Applied Sociology. Los Angeles, (Southern California 
Sociological Society and) University of Southern California, 1916-. 

(8) Journal of Social Forces. Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina 
Press, 1922-. 

(9) Kélner Vierteljahrshefte fiir Soztologie. Leipzig and Miinchen, Duncker 
und Humblot, 1g21-. 

(10) Revue de Vinstitut de sociologie. Bruxelles, l'Institut de Sociologie, 
1920-. [Successor to Bulletin de institut de sociologie Solvay. Brux- 
elles, 1910-14.| 

(11) Rivista italiana di sociologia. Roma, Fratelli Bocca, 1897-. 

(12) Revue internationale de sociologie. Paris, M. Giard et Cie., 1893-. 

(13) Schmollers Jahrbuch fiir Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft 
im deutschen Reiche. Leipzig, Duncker und Humblot, 1877-. 

(14) The Sociological Review. Manchester, Sherratt and Hughes, 1908-. 
[Preceded by Sociological Papers, Sociological Society, Londen, 
1905-7.] 

(15) Zeitschrift fiir Sozialwissenschaft. Berlin, G. Reimer, 1898-. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Comte’s Conception of Humanity 

. Herbert Spencer on the Social Organism 

. The Social Process as Defined by Small 

. Imitation and Like-mindedness as Fundamental Social Facts 

. Social Control as a Sociological Problem 

. Group Consciousness and the Group Mind 

. Investigation and Research as Illustrated by the Pittsburgh Survey 
and the Carnegie Americanization Studies 

. The Concept of the Group in Sociology 

9. The Person, Personality, and Status 

to. Sociology in Its Relation to Economics and to Politics 


SIAM LW ND 


[ee) 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


1. What do you understand was Comte’s purpose in demanding for sociol- 
ogy a place among the sciences ? 


Io. 


If. 


KZ 


13! 
14. 


£5, 


16 


I7. 


18. 


19. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 61 


. Are social phenomena susceptible to scientific prevision? Compare 


with physical phenomena. 


. What is Comte’s order of the sciences? What is your explanation for 


the late appearance of sociology in the series ? 


. What do you understand by the term “positive” when applied to the 


social sciences ? 


. Can sociology become positive without becoming experimental ? 
. “Natural science emphasizes the abstract, the historian is interested 


in the concrete.” Discuss. 


. How do you distinguish between the historical method and the method 


of natural science in dealing with the following phenomena: (qa) elec- 
tricity, (6) plants, (c) cattle, (d) cities? 


. Distinguish between history, natural history, and natural science. 
. Is Westermark’s Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas history, 


natural history, or sociology? Why? 

“History is past politics, politics is present history.” Do you agree? 
Elaborate your position. 

What is the value of history to the person ? 

Classify the following formulas of behavior under either (a) natural 
law (social law in the scientific sense), and (0) moral law (customary 
sanction, ethical principles), (c) civil law: ‘‘birds of a feather flock 
together”; ‘‘thou shalt not kill”; an ordinance against speeding; 
“honesty is the best policy”; monogamy; imitation tends to spread 
in geometric ratio; “‘women first’; the Golden Rule; ‘‘walk in the 
trodden paths”; the federal child-labor statute. 

Give an illustration of a sociological hypothesis. 

Of the following statements of fact, which are historical and which 
sociological ? 

Auguste Comte suffered from myopia. 

‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” 

‘Science works not at all for nationality or its spirit. It makes entirely 
for cosmopolitanism.” 

How would you verify each of the foregoing statements? Distinguish 
between the sociological and historical methods of verification. 

Is the use of the comparative method that of history or that of natural 
science P 

“The social organism: humanity or Leviathan?” What is your 
reaction to this alternative? Why? 

What was the difference in the conception of the social organism held 
by Comte and that held by Spencer ? 

“How does a mere collection of individuals succeed in acting in a 
corporate and consistent way ?”? What was the answer to this question 
given by Hobbes, Aristotle, Worms ? 


62 


20: 


21% 


aes 


23, 


24. 


oie 


26. 


27, 


28. 


20. 


30. 
Bit 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


“Man and society are at the same time products of nature and of 
human artifice.” Explain. 

What are the values and limitations of the following explanations of 
the control of the group over the behavior of its members: (a) homo- 
geneity, (b) like-mindedness, (c) imitation, (d) common purpose? 
What bearing have the facts of a panic or a stampede upon the theories 
of like-mindedness, imitation, and common purpose as explanations of 
group behavior ? 

“The characteristic social phenomenon is just this control by the group 
as a whole of the individuals which compose it. This fact of control is 
the fundamental social fact.”” Give an illustration of the control of 
the group over its members. 

What is the difference between group mind and group consciousness as 
indicated in current usage in the phrases “urban mind,” ‘rural mind,” 
“public mind,” “‘race consciousness,” “‘national consciousness,” ‘class 
consciousness”’ P 

What do you understand by ‘‘a group in being”? Compare with the 
nautical expression ‘‘a fleet in being.” Is ‘‘a fleet in being” a social 
organism? Has it a “social mind” and ‘‘social consciousness” in the 
sense that we speak of “‘race consciousness”’, for example, or “‘group 
consciousness” P 

In what sense is public opinion objective? Analyze a selected case 
where the opinion of the group as a whole is different from the opinion 
of its members as individuals. 

For what reason was the fact of “social control” interpreted in terms 
of “‘the collective mind” ? 

Which is the social reality (a) that society is a collection of like-minded 
persons, or (b) that society is a process and a product of interaction ? 
What is the bearing upon this point of the quotation from Dewey: 
‘Society may fairly be said to exist in transmission” P 

What three steps were taken in the transformation of sociology from 
a philosophy of history to a science of society? 

What value do you perceive in a classification of social problems ? 
Classify the following studies under (a) administrative problems or (0) 
problems of policy or (c) problems of human nature: a survey to deter- 
mine the feasibility of health insurance to meet the problem of sickness; 
an investigation of the police force; a study of attitudes toward war; 
a survey of the contacts of racial groups; an investigation for the 
purpose of improving the technique of workers in a social agency; a 
study of the experiments in self-government among prisoners in penal 
institutions. 


32. 


33: 


34. 


mit 


36. 


37: 
. Distinguish between research and investigation as the terms are used 


39- 
40. 
AI. 
42. 
43. 
44. 
45. 
46. 
_ 47- 


48. 
49. 


SOCIOLOGY AND THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 63 


Is the description of great cities as “social laboratories” metaphor or 
fact ? 

What do you understand by the statement: Sociology will become an 
experimental science as soon as it can state its problems in such a way 
that the results in one instance show what can be done in another ? 
What would be the effect upon political life if sociology were able to 
predict with some precision the effects of political action, for example, 
the effect of prohibition ? 

Would you favor turning over the government to control of experts as 
soon as sociology became a positive science? Explain. 

How far may the politician who makes a profession of controlling elec- 
tions be regarded as a practicing sociologist ? 

What is the distinction between sociology as an art and as a science? 


in the text. 
What illustrations in American society: occur to you of the (a) auto- 


cratic and (b) democratic methods of social change ? 

**All social problems turn out finally to be problems of group life.” 
Are there any exceptions ? 

Select twelve groups at random and enter under the heads in the 
classification of social groups. What groups are difficult to classify ? 
Study the organization and structure of one of the foregoing groups in 
terms of (a) statistical facts about it; (0) its institutional aspect; 
(c) its heritages; and (d) its collective opinion. 

*‘ All progress implies a certain amount of disorganization.” Explain. 
What do you understand to be the differences between the various 
social processes: (a) historical, (b) cultural, (c) economic, (d) political ? 
What is the significance of the relative diameters of the areas of the 
cultural, political, and economic processes ? 

“The person is an individual who has status.”” Does an animal have 
status ? | 

“In a given group the status of every member is determined by his 
relation to every other member of that group.”’ Give an illustration. 
Why are the problems of the person, problems of the group as well ? 
What does the organization of the bibliography and the sequence of 
the volumes referred to suggest in regard to the development of socio- 
logical science ? 


. How far doesit seem to you that the emphasis upon process rather than 


progress accounts for the changes which have taken place in the socio- 
logical theory and point of view ? 


CHAPTER II 


HUMAN NATURE 
I. INTRODUCTION 


I. Human Interest in Human Nature 


The human interest in human nature is proverbial. It is an 
original tendency of man to be attentive to the behavior of other 
human beings. Experience heightens this interest because of the 
dependence of the individual upon other persons, not only for physical 
existence, but for social life. 

The literature of every people is to a large extent but the crystal- 
lization of this persistent interest. Old saws and proverbs of every 
people transmit from generation to generation shrewd generalizations 
upon human behavior. In joke and in epigram, in caricature and 
in burlesque, in farce and in comedy, men of all races and times have 
enjoyed with keen relish the humor of the contrast between the 
conventional and the natural motives in behavior. In Greek mythol- 
ogy, individual traits of human nature are abstracted, idealized, 
and personified into gods. The heroes of Norse sagas and Teutonic 
legends are the gigantic symbols of primary emotions and sentiments. 
Historical characters live in the social memory not alone because they 
are identified with political, religious, or national movements but also 
because they have come to typify human relationships. The loyalty 
of Damon and Pythias, the grief of Rachel weeping for her children, 
the cynical cruelty of the egocentric Nero, the perfidy of Benedict 
Arnold, the comprehending sympathy of Abraham Lincoln, are pro- 
verbial, and as such have become part of the common language of 
all the peoples who participate in our occidental culture. 

Poetry, drama, and the plastic arts are interesting and significant 
only so far as they reveal in new and ever changing circumstances 
the unchanging characteristics of a fundamental human nature. 
Illustrations of this naive and unreflecting interest in the study of © 
mankind are familiar enough ig the experience and observation 


OA 


A 


HUMAN NATURE 65 
of any of us. ( Intellectual interest in, and the scientific observation of, 
human traits and human behavior have their origin in this natural 
interest and unreflective observation by man of his fellows. History, 
ethnology, folklore, all the comparative studies of single cultural 
traits, i.e., of language, of religion, and of law, are but the more 
systematic pursuit of this universal interest of mankind in man. 


2. Definition of Human Nature 


The natural history of the expression ‘‘human nature” is inter- 
esting. Usage has given it various shades of meaning. In defining 
the term more precisely there is a tendency either unwarrantedly to 
narrow or unduly to extend and overemphasize some one or another 
of the different senses of the term. A survey of these varied uses 
reveals the common and fundamental meaning of the phrase. 

The use which common sense makes of the term human nature 
is significant. It is used in varied contexts with the most divergent 
implications but always by way of explanation of behavior that is 
characteristically human. The phrase is sometimes employed with 
cynical deprecation as, ‘‘Oh, that’s human nature.” Or as often, 
perhaps, as an expression of approbation, ‘‘He’s so human.” 

The weight of evidence as expressed in popular sayings is dis- 
tinctly in depreciation of man’s nature. 


It’s human natur’, p’raps,—if so, 
Oh, isn’t human natur’ low, 


are two lines from Gilbert’s musical comedy ‘“‘Babette’s Love.” “To 
err is human, to forgive divine” reminds us of a familiar contrast. 
“Human nature is like a bad clock; it might go right now and then, 
or be made to strike the hour, but its inward frame is to go wrong,” 
is a simile that emphasizes the popular notion that man’s behavior 
tends to the perverse. An English divine settles the question with 
the statement, ‘Human nature is a rogue and a scoundrel, or why 
would it perpetually stand in need of laws and religion ?” 

Even those who see good in the natural man admit his native 
tendency to err. Sir Thomas Browne asserts that “human nature 
knows. naturally what is good but naturally pursues what is evil.” 
The Ear] of Clarendon gives the equivocal explanation that “if we 
did not take great pains to corrupt our nature, our nature would 


66 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


never corrupt us.” Addison, from the detached position of an obser- 
ver and critic of manners and men, concludes that “as man is a 
creature made up of different extremes, he has something in him very 
great and very mean.” 

The most commonly recognized distinction between man and the 
lower animals lies in his possession of reason. ) Yet familiar sayings 
tend to exclude the intellectual from the human attributes. Lord 
Bacon shrewdly remarks that ‘there is in human nature, generally, 
more of the fool than of the wise.” The phrase “he is a child of 
nature’? means that behavior in social relations is impulsive, simple, 
and direct rather than reflective, sophisticated, or consistent. Words- 
worth depicts this human type in his poem “She Was a Phantom 
of Delight’’: 


A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature’s daily food; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. 


The inconsistency between the rational professions and the impul- 
sive behavior of men is a matter of common observation. “That’s 
not the logic, reason, or philosophy of it, but it’s the human nature 
of it.” It is now generally recognized that the older English con- 
ception of the ‘‘economic man” and the “rational man,” motivated 
by enlightened self-interest, was far removed from the “natural man” 
impelled by impulse, prejudice, and sentiment, in short, by human 
nature. Popular criticism has been frequently directed against the 
reformer in politics, the efficiency expert in industry, the formalist in 
religion and morals on the ground that they overlook or neglect the 
so-called ‘human factor” in the situation. Sir Arthur Helps says: 

No doubt hard work is a great police-agent; if everybody were worked 
from morning till night, and then carefully locked up, the register of crimes 
might be greatly diminished. But what would become of human nature? 
Where would be the room for growth in such a system of things? It is 
through sorrow and mirth, plenty and need, a variety of passions, circum- 
stances, and temptations, even through sin and misery, that men’s natures. 
are developed. 


Certain sayings already quoted imply that the nature of man 
is a fact to be reckoned with in controlling his behavior. “There are 
limits to human nature” which cannot lightly be overstepped. 


HUMAN NATURE 67 





“Human nature,” according to Periander, “is hard to overcome.” 


Yet we also recognize with Swift that “it is the talent of human 
nature to run from one extreme to another.” Finally, nothing is 
more trite and familiar than the statement that “human nature is 
the same all over the world.” This fundamental likeness of human 
nature, despite artificial and superficial cultural differences, has found 
a classic expression in Kipling’s line: ‘The Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy 
O’Grady are sisters under their skins!” 

Human nature, then, as distinct from the formal wishes of the 
individual and the conventional order of society, is an aspect of 
human life that must be reckoned with. Common sense has long 
recognized this, but until recently no systematic attempt has been 
made to isolate, describe, and explain the distinctively human factors 
in the life either of the individual or of society. 

Of all that has been written on this subject the most adequate 
statement is that of Cooley. He has worked out with unusual pene- 
tration and peculiar insight an interpretation of human nature as 
a product of group life. 


By human nature we may understand those sentiments and impulses , 
that are human in being superior to those of lower animals and also in the | 
sense that they belong to mankind at large, and not to any particular race | 
or time.) It means, particularly, sympathy and the innumerable senti- | 

Pt Cue aL. 
ments into whieh sympathy enters, such_as love, resentment, ambition, 
vanity, hero-worship, and the feeling of social eat and wrong. 

Human nature in this sense is justly regarded as a comparatively 
permanent element in society. Always and everywhere men seek honor 
and dread ridicule, defer to public opinion, cherish their goods and their 
children, and admire courage, generosity, and success. It is always safe to 
assume that people are and have been human. 

Human nature is not something existing separately in the individual, 
but a group nature or primary phase of society, a relatively simple and 
general condition of the social mind. It is something more, on the one 
hand, than the mere instinct that is born in us—though that enters into 
it—and something less, on the other, than the more elaborate development 
of ideas and sentiments that makes up institutions. It is the nature which 
is developed and expressed in those simple, face-to-face groups that are 
somewhat alike in all societies; groups of the family, the playground, and 
the neighborhood. In the essential similarity of these is to be found the 
basis, in experience, for similar ideas and sentiments in the human mind. 


68 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In these, everywhere, human nature comes into existence. AS does not 
have it at birth; he cannot acquire it except through fellowship, and it 
decays in isolation.! 


3. Classification of the Materials 


With the tacit acceptance by biologists, psychologists, and sociolo- 
gists of human behavior as a natural phenomenon, materials upon 
human nature have rapidly accumulated. The wealth and variety 
of these materials are all the greater because of the diversity of the 
points of view from which workers in this field have attacked the 
problem. ‘The value of the results of these investigations is enhanced 
when they are brought together, classified, and compared. 

The materials fall naturally into two divisions: (a) “The Original 
Nature of Man” and (6) “‘Human Nature and Social Life.”” This 
division is based upon a distinction between traits that are inborn 
and characters socially acquired; a distinction found necessary by 
students in this field. Selections under the third heading, ‘‘ Person- 
ality and the Social Self” indicate the manner in which the individual 
develops under the social influences, from the raw material of “instinct”’ 
into the social product ‘‘the person.” Materials in the fourth division, 
“Biological and Social Inheritance,” contrast the’method of the trans- 
mission of original tendencies through the germplasm with the 
communication of the social ‘heritage through education. 

a) The original nature of man.—No one has stated more clearly 
than Thorndike that human nature is a product of two factors, (a) 
tendencies to response rooted in original nature and (6) the accumu- 
lated effects of the stimuli of the external and social environment. 
At birth man is a bundle of random tendencies to respond. ‘Through 
experience, and by means of the mechanisms of habit and character, 
control is secured over instinctive reactions. In other words, the 
original nature of man is, as Comte said, an abstraction. *It exists 
only in the psychic vacuum of antenatal life, or perhaps only in the 
potentiality of the germ plasm.e The fact of observation is that the 
structure of the response is irrevocably changed in the process of 
reaction to the stimulus. The Biography of a Baby gives a concrete 
picture of the development of the plastic infant in the environment 
of the social group. 





Charles H. Cooley, Social Organization, pp. 28-30. 


HUMAN NATURE 69 


The three papers on differences between sexes, races, and indi- 
viduals serve as an introduction into the problem of differentiating 
the aspects of behavior which are in original nature from those that 
are acquired through social experience. Are the apparent differences 
between men and women, white and colored, John and James, those 
which arise from differences in the germ plasm or from differences in 
education and in cultural contacts? ‘The selections must not be 
taken as giving the final word upon the subject. At best they repre- 
sent merely the conclusions reached by three investigators: Attempts 
to arrive at positive differences in favor either of original nature or 
of education are frequently made in the interest of preconceived 
opinion. The problem, as far as science is concerned, is to discover 
what limitations original nature places upon response to social copies, 
and the ways in which the inborn potentialities find expression or 
repression in differing types of social environment. 

b) Human nature and social life—Original nature is represented 
in human responses in so far as they are determined by the innate 
structure of the-individual organism. The materials assembled under 
this head treat of inborn reactions as influenced, modified, and recon- 
structed by the structure of the social organization. 

The actual reorganization of human nature takes place in response 
to the folkways and mores, the traditions and conventions, of the 
group. So potentially fitted for social life is the natural man, how- 
ever, So manifold are the expressions that the plastic original ten- 
dencies may take, that instinct is replaced by habit, precedent, 
personal taboo, and good form. ‘This remade structure of human 
nature, this objective mind, as Hegel ca'led it, is fixed and trans- 
mitted in the folkways and mores, social ritual, i.e., Szttlichkeit, to 
use the German word, and convention. 

¢) Personality and the social self—The selections upon ‘‘Person- 
ality and the Social Self” bring together and compare the different 
definitions of the term. These definitions fall under three heads: 

(t) The organism as personality: This is a biological statement, 
satisfactory as a definition only as preparatory to further analysis. 

(2) Rersonality-as-a-complex; Personalitydefinéd in terms of ‘the 
unity of mental life is a conception that has grown up in the recent 

individual psychology,” so called. Personality includes, in this 
case, not only the memories of the individual and his stream of 





7O INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


consciousness, but also the characteristic organization of mental 
complexes and trends which may be thought of as a supercomplex. 
The phenomena of double and multiple personalities occur when this 
unity becomes disorganized. Disorganization in releasing groups of 
complexes from control may even permit the formation of independent 
organizations. Morton Prince’s book The Dissociation of a Person- 
ality is a classic case study of multiple personality. The selections 
upon ‘‘The Natural Person versus the Social and Conventional 
Person” and ‘‘The Divided Self and the Moral Consciousness”’ 
indicate the more usual and less extreme conflicts of opposing senti- 
ments and interests within the organization of personality. 

(3) Personality as the réle of the individual in the group: ‘The word 
personality is derived from the Latin persona, a mask used by actors. 
The etymology of the term suggests that its meaning is to be found 
in the réle of the individual in the social group. By usage, person- 
ality carries the implication of the social expression of behavior. 
Personality may then be defined as the sum and organization of those 
traits which determine the-réle of the individual in the group. The 
following i is a classification of the characteristics of the person which 
affect his social status and efficiency: 

(a) physical traits, as physique, physiognomy, etc.; 

(£) temperament; 

(c) character; 

(d) social expression, as by facial expression, gesture, manner, 

speech, writing, etc.; 

(e) prestige, as by birth, past success, status, etc.; 

(f) the individual’s conception of his réle. 

The significance of these traits consists in the way in which they 


enter into the réle of the individual in his social milieu. Chief among » 


these may be considered the individual’s conception of the part which 
he plays among his fellows. Cooley’s discriminating description of 
“the looking-glass self”? offers a picture of the process by which the 


person conceives himself in terms of the attitudes of-others toward him. ~ 


The reflected or looking: glass ‘self seems to have _three e pri ipal 
elementsé the imagination of our appearance tothe other p person: the 
imagination of his judgment of that appearance; “and some sort of self- 
feeling, such as pride or mortification. The comparison with a looking- 
glass self hardly suggests the second element, the imagined judgment, 





HUMAN NATURE 7% 





from the fact t im e character and weight of that other, in whose mind 
we see ourselves, makes all the difference with our feeling. 


Veblen has made a subtle analysis of the way in which conduct 
is controlled by the individual’s conception of his social réle in his 
analysis of “invidious comparison”’ and ‘“‘conspicuous expenditure.’ 

d) Biological and social inheritance-—The distinction between 
biological and social inheritance is sharply made by the noted biolo- 
gist, J. Arthur Thomson, in the selection entitled “Nature and Nur- 
ture.’ The so-called ‘‘acquired characters”? or modifications of 
original nature through experience, he points out, are transmitted not 
through the germ plasm but through communication. 

Thorndike’s “Inventory of Original Tendencies” offers a detailed 
classification of the traits transmitted biologically. Since there 
exists no corresponding specific analysis of acquired traits, the fol- 
lowing brief inventory of types of social heritages is offered. 


TYPES OF SOCIAL HERITAGES 


(a) means of communication, as language, gesture, etc.; 
(6} social attitudes, habits, wishes, etc.; 
(c) character; 


(d) social patterns, as folkways, mores, conventions, ideals, 
etc. 


(e) technique; 


(f) culture (as distinguished from technique, formal organiza- 
tion, and machinery); 


(g) social organization (primary group life, institutions, sects, 
secondary groups, etc.). 


On the basis of the work of Mendel, biologists have made marked 
progress in determining the inheritance of specific traits of original 
nature. ‘The selection from a foremost American student of heredity 
and eugenics, C. B. Davenport, entitled. ‘Inheritance of Original 
ates the precision and accuracy with which the pre- 
inheritance of individual innate traits is made. 


Cooley, Human Nature and the Social Order, pp. 152-53. 
of the Leisure Class (New York, 1899). 





72 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The mechanism of the transmission of social heritages, while more 
open to observation than biological inheritance, has not been sub- 


jected to as intensive study. The transmission of.the-social-heritage- 


takes place by communication, as Keller points out, through the 
medium of the -various senses. The various types of the. social 
heritages are transmitted.in.two..ways: (a) by tradition, as from 
generation to generation, and (8) by acculturation, as from group to 
group. 

In the communication of the social heritages, either by tradition 
or by acculturation, two aspects of the process may be distinguished: 
(a) Because of temperament, interest, and run of attention of the 
members of the group, the heritage, whether a word, an act of skill, 
or a social attitude, may be selected, appropriated, and incorporated 
into its culture. This is communication by imitation. (b) On the 
other hand, the heritage may be imposed upon the members of the 
group through authority and routine, by tabu and repression. This 
is communication ee ae In any concrete situation the 
transmission of a social heritage may combine varying elements of 
both processes. Education, as the etymology of the term suggests, 
denotes culture of original tendencies; yet the routine of a school 
system is frequently organized about formal discipline rather than 
around interest, aptitude, and attention. 

Historically, the scientific interest in the question of biological 
and social inheritance has concerned itself with the rather sterile 
problem of the weight to be attached on the one hand to physical 
heredity and on the other to social heritage. The selection,“ Tempera- 
ment, Tradition, and Nationality” suggests that a more important 
inquiry is to determine how the behavior patterns and the culture of 
a racial group or a social class are determined by the interaction of 
original nature and the social tradition. According to this conception, 
racial temperament is an active selective agency, determining interest 
and the direction of attention. The group heritages on the other 
hand represent a detached external social environment, a complex 
of stimuli, effective only in so far as they call forth responses. The 
culture of a group is the sum total and organization of the social 
heritages which have acquired a social meaning because of racial 
temperament and of the historical life of the group. 






HUMAN NATURE 73 


“II MATERIALS 
\A. THE ORIGINAL NATURE OF MAN 
1. Original Nature Defined: 


te» 


A man’s nature and the changes that take place in it may be 
described in terms of the responses—of thought, feeling, action, and 
attitude—which he makes, and of the bonds by which these are 
connected with the situations which life offers. Any fact of intellect, 
character, or skill means a tendency to respond in a certain way to a 
certain situation—involves a situation or state of affairs influencing 
the man, a response or state of affairs in the man, and a connection or 
bond whereby the latter is the result of the former. 

Any man possesses at the very start of his life—that is, at the 
moment when the ovum and spermatozo6n which are to produce him 
have united—numerous well-defined tendencies to future behavior. 
Between the situations which he will meet and the responses which 
he will make to them, pre-formed bonds exist. It is already deter- 
mined by the constitution of these two germs that under certain 
circumstances he will see and hear and feel and act in certain ways. 
His intellect and morals, as well as his bodily organs and movements, 
are-in part the consequence of the nature of the embryo in the first 
moment of its life. What aman is and does throughout life is a 
result of whatever constitution he has at the start and of the forces 
that act upon it before and after birth. I shall use the term “original 
nature” for the former and “environment” for the latter. His 
original nature is thus a name for the nature of the combined germ- 


V 


cells from which he springs, and his environment is a name for the rest 


of the universe, so far as it may, directly or indirectly, influence him. 
Three terms, reflexes, instincts, and inborn capacities, divide the 
work of naming these unlearned tendencies. When the tendency 
concerns a very definite and uniform response to a very simple sen- 
sory situation, and when the connection between the situation and 
the response is very hard to modify and is also very strong so that it 
is almost inevitable, the connection or response to which it leads is 
called a reflex. Thus the knee-jerk is a very definite and uniform 
response to the simple sense-stimulus of sudden hard pressure against 
ain spot. 
rom Edward L. Thorndike, The Original Nature of Man, pp.1-7. (Teachers 
ze, Columbia University, 1913. Author’s copyright.) 


74 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


When the response is more indefinite, the situation more complex, 
and the connection more modifiable, instinct becomes the customa 
term. ‘Thus one’s misery at being scorned is too indefinite a response 
to too complex a situation and is too easily modifiable to be called a 
reflex. When the tendency is to an extremely indefinite response or 
set of responses to a very complex situation, as when the connection’s 
final degree of strength is commonly due to very large contributions 
from training, it has seemed more appropriate to replace reflex and 
instinct by some term like capacity, or tendency, or potentiality. 
Thus an original tendency to respond to the circumstances of school 
education by achievement in learning the arts and sciences is called 
the capacity for scholarship. 

There is, of course, no gap between reflexes and instincts, or 
between instincts and the still less easily describable original tenden- 
cies. ‘The fact is that original tendencies range with respect to the 
nature of the responses from such as are single, simple, definite, uni- 
form within the individual and only slightly variable amongst indi- 
viduals, to responses that are highly compound, complex, vague, and 
variable within one individual’s life and amongst individuals. 

A typical reflex, or instinct, or capacity, as a whole, includes the 
ability to be sensitive to a certain situation, the ability to make a 
certain response, and the existence of a bond or connection whereby 
that response is made to that situation. For instance, the young 
chick is sensitive to the absence of other members of his species, is 
able to peep, and is so organized that the absence of other members 
of the species makes him peep. But the tendency to be sensitive to 
a certain situation may exist without the existence of a connection 
therewith of any further exclusive response, and the tendency to 
make a certain response may exist without the existence of a connec- 
tion limiting that response exclusively to any single situation. The 
three-year-old child is by inborn nature markedly sensitive to the 
presence and acts of other human beings, but the exact nature of his 
response varies. ‘The original tendency to cry is very strong, but 
there is no one situation to which it is exclusively bound. Original 
nature seems to decide that the individual will respond somehow 
to certain situations more often than it decides just what he will do, 
and to decide that he will make certain responses more often than it 
decides just when he will make them. So, for convenience in think- 


’ 


HUMAN NATURE 75 






man’s unlearned equipment, this appearance of multiple 


2. No Separate Instincts! +): 


r asserted that there are definite? independent, original 
instinct lich manifest themselves in specific acts in a one-to-one 
correspondence. Fear, it will be said, is a reality, and so is anger, 
and rivalry, and love of: mastery of others, and self-abasement,’ 
maternal love, sexual desire, gregariousness and envy, and each has 
its own appropriate deed as a result. Of course they are realities. 
So are suction, rusting of metals, thunder and lightning and lighter- 
than-air flying machines. But science and invention did not get 
on as long as men indulged in the notion of special forces to account 
for such phenomena. Men tried that road, and it only led them into 
learned ignorance. They spoke of nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum; 
of a force of combustion; of intrinsic nisus toward this and that; of 
heaviness and levity as forces, It turned out that these “forces” 
were only the phenomena over again, translated from a specific and 
concrete form (in which they were at least actual) into a generalized 
form in which they were verbal. They converted a problem into a 
solution which afforded a simulated satisfaction. 

Advance in insight and control came only when the mind turned 
squarely around. After it had dawned upon inquirers that their \ 
alleged causal forces were only names which condensed into a dupli- | 
cate form a variety of complex occurrences, they set about break- | 
ing up phenomena into minute detail and searching for correlations, | 
that is, for elements in other gross phenomena which also varied. ~ 
Correspondence of variations of elements took the place of large 
and imposing forces. The psychology of behavior is only beginning to 
undergo similar treatment. But as yet we tend to regard sex, hunger, 
fear, and even much more complex active interests as if they were lump 
forces, like the combustion or gravity of old-fashioned physical science. 

It is not hard to see how the notion of a single and separate ten- 
dency grew up in the case of simpler acts like hunger and sex. The 
paths of motor outlet or discharge are comparatively few and are 








*Adapted from John Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, pp. 149-57. 
(Henry Holt & Co., 1922.) 


76 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


fairly well defined. Specific bodily organs are conspicuously involved. 
Hence there is suggested the notion of a correspondingly separate 
psychic force or impulse. There-are-two-fallacies-in-this-assumption. 
The first consists in ignoring the fact.that-no activity (even one that 
is limited by routine habit) is confined to the channel which is most 
flagrantly involved in its execution. The whole organism is concerned 
in every act to some extent and in some fashion, internal organs as 
well as muscular, those of circulation, secretion, etc. Since the total 

«state of the organism is never exactly twice alike, in so far the phe- 
nomena of hunger and sex are never twice the same in fact. The 
difference may be negligible for some purposes, and yet give the key 
for the purposes of a psychological analysis which shall terminate in 
a correct judgment of value. Even physiologically the context of 
organic changes accompanying an act of hunger or sex makes the 
difference between a normal and a morbid phenomenon. 

_-~ In the second place, the environment in which the act takes place 
is never twice alike. Even when the overt organic discharge is sub- 
stantially the same, the acts impinge upon a different environment 
and thus have different consequences. It is impossible to regard 
these differences of objective result as indifferent to the quality of the 
acts. They are immediately sensed if not clearly perceived; and they 
are the only components of the meaning of the act. When feelings, 
dwelling antecedently in the soul, were supposed to be the causes of 
acts, it was natural to suppose that each psychic element had its own 
inherent quality which might be directly read off by introspection. 
But when we surrender this notion, it becomes evident that the only 
way of telling what an organic act is like is by the sensed or perceptible 
changes which it occasions. Some of these will be intra-organic, and 
(as just indicated) they will vary with every act. Others will be 
external to the organism, and these consequences are more important 
than the intra-organic ones for determining the quality of the act. 
For they are consequences in which others are concerned and which 
evoke reactions of favor and disfavor as well as co-operative and 
resisting activities of a more indirect sort. 

A child gives way to what, grossly speaking, we call anger. Its 
feltor appreciated quality depends in the first place upon the condition 
of his organism at the time, and this is never twice aliké- “In the 
second place, the act 1s at once modified by the envfronment upon 


HUMAN NATURE "7 


which it impinges so that different consequences are immediately 
reflected back to the doer. In one case, anger is directed say at older 
and stronger playmates who immediately avenge themselves ‘upon 
the offender, perhaps cruelly. In another case, it takes effect upon 
weaker and impotent children, and the reflected appreciated conse- 
quence is one of achievement, victory, power and a knowledge of the 
means of having one’s own way. ‘The notion that anger still remains 
a single force is a lazy mythology. Even in the cases of hunger and 
sex, where the channels of action are fairly demarcated by antecedent 
conditions (or “‘nature’’), the actual content and feel of hunger and 
sex are indefinitely varied according to their social contexts. Only 
when a man is starving, is hunger an unqualified natural impulse; 
as it approaches this limit, it tends to lose, moreover, its psychological] 
distinctiveness and to become a raven of the entire organism. 

The treatment of sex by psycho-analysts is most instructive, for 
it flagrantly exhibits both the consequences of artificial simplification 
and the transformation of social results into psychic causes. Writers, 
usually male, hold forth on the psychology of woman, as if they were 
dealing with a Platonic universal entity, although they habitually 
treat men as individuals, varying with structure and environment. 
They treat phenomena which are peculiarly symptoms of the civiliza- 
tion of the West at the present time as if they were the necessary 
‘ effects of fixed native impulses of human nature. Romantic love as it — 
exists today, with all the varying perturbations it occasions, is as defi- 
nitely a sign of specific historic conditions as are big battle ships with 
turbines, internal-combustion engines, and electrically driven machines. 
It would be as sensible to treat the latter as effects of a single psychic 
cause as to attribute the phenomena of disturbance and conflict which 
accompany present sexual relations as manifestations of an original 
single psychic force or Libido. Upon this point at least a Marxian 
simplification is nearer’ the truth than that of Jung. 

Again it is customary to suppose that there is a single instinct 
of fear, or at most a few well-defined sub-species of it. In reality, 
when one is afraid the whole being reacts, and this entire responding 
organism is never twice the same. In fact, also, every reaction takes 
place in-a-different environment, and its meaning is never twice alike, iA 
since the differencé in environment makes a difference in consequences, 
There is no such thule as an environment in general; there are 


a 


78 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


specific changing objects and events. Hence the kind of evasion 
or running away or shrinking up which takes place is directly cor- 
related with specific Burrounente conditioas. There is no one fear 
having diverse manifestations; | there are as many qualitatively 
different fears as there are objects responded to and different con- 
sequences sensed and observed. 

Fear of the dark is different from fear of publicity, fear of the 
dentist from fear of ghosts, fear of conspicuous success from fear of 
humiliation, fear of a bat from fear of a bear. Cowardice, embarass- 
ment, caution and reverence may all be regarded as forms of fear. 
They all have certain physical organic acts in common—those of 
organic shrinkage, gestures of hesitation and retreat. But each is 
qualitatively unique. Each is what it is in virtue of its total inter- 
actions or correlations with other acts and with the environing medium, 
with consequences. High explosives and the aeroplane have brought 
into being something new in conduct. ‘There is no error in calling it 
fear. But there is error, even from a limited clinical standpoint, in 
permitting the classifying name to blot from view the difference 
between fear of bombs dropped from the sky and the fears which 
previously existed. The new fear is just as much and Just as little 
original and native.as a child’s fear of.a stranger. 

For any activity is original when it first occurs. As conditions 
are continually changing, new and primitive activities are continually 
occurring. The traditional psychology of instincts obscures recog- 
nition of this fact. It sets up a hard-and-fast preordained class 
under which specific acts are subsumed, so that their own quality 
and originality are lost from view. This is why the novelist and 
dramatist are so much more illuminating as well as more interesting 
commentators on conduct than is the schematizing psychologist. 

The artist makes perceptible individual responses and thus dis- 
plays a new phase of human nature evoked in new situations. In 
putting the case visibly and dramatically he reveals vital actualities. 
The scientific systematizer treats each art as merely another example 
of some old principle, or as a mechanical combination of elements 
drawn from a ready-made inventory. 

When we recognize the diversity of native activities and the varied 
ways in which they are modified through interactions with one-another 
in response to different conditions, we are able to understand mora! - 


HUMAN’ NATURE 









ou incorporation te ren be converted FAN an abide 
conviction of social injustice to be remedied, and furnish the dynamic 
to carry the conviction into execution. Or an excitation of sexual 


and services. Such an outcome represents the normal or desirable 
functioning of impulse; in which, to use our previous language, the 
impulse operates as a pivot, or reorganization of habit. Or again a 
released impulsive activity may be neither immediately expressed in 
isolated spasmodic action, nor indirectly employed in an enduring 
interest. It may be “suppressed.” 

Suppression is not annihilation. ‘‘Psychic” energy is no more 
capable of being abolished than the forms we recognize as physical. 
If it is neither exploded nor converted, it is turned inwards, to lead a 
surreptitious, subterranean life. An isolated or spasmodic manifes- 
tation is a sign of immaturity, crudity, savagery; a suppressed activity 
is the cause of all kinds of intellectual and moral pathology. One 
form of the resulting pathology constitutes “reaction” in the sense in 
which the historian speaks of reactions. A conventionally familiar 
instance is Stuart license after Puritan restraint. A striking modern 
instance is the orgy of extravagance following upon the enforced econo- 
mies and hardships of war, the moral let-down after its highstrung 
exalted idealisms, the deliberate carelessness after an attention too 
intense and too narrow. Outward manifestation of many normai 
activities had been suppressed. But activities were not suppressed. 
They were merely dammed up awaiting their chance. 


3. Man Not Born Human!’ 


Man. is not_born-human:. It is only slowly and laboriously, in 
fruitful contact, co-operation, and conflict with his fellows, that he 
attains the distinctive qualities of human nature. In*the course of 
his prenatal life he has already passed roughly through, or, as the 

‘From Robert E. Park, Principles of Human Behavior, pp. 9-16. (The Zalaz 
Corporation, 1915.) 


attraction may reappear in art or in tranquil domestic attachments “” 


80 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


biologists say, ‘‘recapitulated,”’ the whole history of his animal 
ancestors. | He brings with him at birth a multitude of instincts and 
_tendencies, many of which persist during life and many of which are 
only what G. Stanley Hall calls ‘‘vestigial traces”’ of his brute ances- 
try, as is shown by the fact that they are no longer useful and soon 
disappear. 


These non-volitional movements of earliest infancy and of later child- 
hood (such as licking things, clicking with the tongue, grinding the teeth, 
biting the nails, shrugging corrugations, pulling buttons, or twisting gar- 
ments, strings, etc., twirling pencils, etc.) are relics of past forms of utilities 
now essentially obsolete. Ancient modes of locomotion, prehension, 
balancing, defense, attack, sensuality, etc., are all rehearsed, some quite 
fully and some only by the faintest mimetic suggestion, flitting spasmodic 
tensions, gestures, or facial expressions. 


Human nature may therefore be regarded on the whole as 
a superstructure founded on instincts, dispositions, and tendencies, 
inherited from a long line of human and animal ancestors. It con- 
sists mainly in a higher organization of forces, a more subtle distilla- 
tion of potencies latent in what Thorndike calls ‘“‘the original nature 
of man.” 


The original nature of man is roughly what is common to all men minus 
all adaptations to tools, houses, clothes, furniture, words, beliefs, religions, 
laws, science, the arts, and to whatever in other men’s behavior is due to 
adaptations to them. From human nature as we find it, take away, first, 
all that is in the European but not in the Chinaman, all that is in the Fiji 
Islander but not in the Esquimaux, all that is local or temporary. ‘Then 
take away also the effects of all products of human art. What is left of 
human intellect and character is largely original—not wholly, for all those 
elements of knowledge which we call ideas and judgments must be sub- 
tracted from his responses. Man originally possesses only capacities 
which, after a given amount of education, will produce ideas and judgments. 


Such, in general, is the nature of human beings before that nature 
has been modified by experience and formed by the education and 
the discipline of contact and intercourse with their fellows. 

Several writers, among them William James; have attempted to 
make a rough inventory of the special instinctive tendencies with 
which human beings are equipped at birth. First of all there are 
the simpler reflexes such as ‘‘crying, sneezing, snoring, coughing, 


HUMAN NATURE 81 


sighing, sobbing, gagging, vomiting, hiccuping, starting, moving the 
limb in response to its being tickled, touched or blown upon, spreading 
the toes in response to its being touched, tickled, or stroked on the sole 
of the foot, extending and raising the arms at any sudden sensory 
stimulus, or the quick pulsation of the eyelid.” 

Then there are the more complex original tendencies such as 
sucking, chewing, sitting up, and gurgling. Among the more general 
unlearned responses of children are fear, anger, pugnacity, envy, 
jealousy, curiosity, constructiveness, love of festivities, ceremonies 
and ordeals, sociability and shyness, secretiveness, etc. ‘Thorndike, 
who quotes this list at length, has sought to give definiteness to its 
descriptions by clearly defining and distinguishing the character of 
the situation to which the behavior cited isa response. For example, 
to the situation, ‘‘strange man or animal, to solitude, black things, 
dark places, holes and corners, a human corpse,” the native and 
unlearned response is fear. The original response of man to being 
alone is an experience of discomfort, to perceiving a crowd, ‘‘a ten- 
dency to join them and do what they are doing and an unwillingness 
to leave off and go home.” It is part of man’s original nature when 
he is in love to conceal his love affairs, and so forth. 

It is evident from this list that what is meant by original nature 
is not. confined to the behavior which manifests itself at birth, but 
includes man’s spontaneous and unlearned responses to situations as 
they-arise in the-experience of the individual. DATA ae 

The widespread interest in the study of children has inspired in 
recent years a considerable literature bearing upon the original and 
inherited tendencies of human nature. The difficulty of distinguish- 
ing between what is original and what is acquired among the forms of 
behavior reported upon, and the further difficulty of obtaining 
accurate descriptions of the situations to which the behavior described 
was a response, has made much of this literature of doubtful value for 
scientific purposes. ‘These studies have, nevertheless, contributed to 
a radical change in,our conceptions of human nature. They have 
shown that the distinction between the mind of man and that of the 


lower animals is not so wide nor so profound as was once supposed. ~ 


They have emphasized the fact that-human-nature rests on animal _ 
nature, and the transition from one to the other, in spite of the con- 
trast in their separate achievements, has been made by imperceptible 


82 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


gradations. In the same way they have revealed, beneath differ- 
ences in culture and individual achievement, the outlines of a per- 
vasive and relatively unchanging human nature in which all races. 
and individuals have a common share. 

The study of human nature begins with description, but it goes 
on from that point to explanation. If the descriptions which we 
have thus far had of human nature are imperfect and lacking in 
precision, it is equally true that the explanations thus far invented 
have, on the whole, been inadequate. One reason for this has been 
the difficulty of the task. ‘The mechanisms which control human 
behavior are, as might be expected, tremendously complicated, and 
the problem of analyzing them into their elementary forms and 
reducing their varied manifestations to precise and lucid formulas is 
both intricate and perplexing. 

The foundation for the explanation of human nature has been 
laid, however, by the studies of behavior in animals and the com- 
parative study of the physiology of the nervous system. Progress 
has been made, on the one hand, by seeking for the precise psycho- 
chemical process involved in the nervous reactions, and on the other, 
by reducing all higher mental processes to elementary forms repre- 
sented by the tropisms and reflex actions. 

In this, science has made a considerable advance upon common 
sense in its interpretations of human behavior, but has introduced 
no new principle; it has simply made its statements more detailed 
and exact... For example, common sense has observed that *‘the 
burnt child shuns the fire,” that ‘‘the moth seeks the flame.” ‘These 
are both statements of truths of undoubted generality. In order to 
give therm the validity of scientific truth, however, we need to know 
what there is in the nature of the processes involved that makes it 
inevitable that the child should shun the fire and the moth should 
seek the flame. It is not sufficient to say that the action in one case 
is instinctive and in the other intelligent, unless we are able to give 
precise and definite meanings to those terms;. unless, in short, we 
are able to point out the precise mechanisms through which these 
reactions are carried out. The following illustration from Loeb’s 
volume on the comparative physiology of the brain will illustrate 
the distinction between the common sense and the more precise 
scientific explanation of the behavior in man and the lower animals. 


HUMAN NATURE 83 


It is a well-known fact that if an ant be removed from a nest and 
afterward put back it will not be attacked, while almost invariably an ant 
belonging to another nest will be attacked. It has been customary to use 
the words memory, enmity, friendship, in describing this fact. Now Bethe 
made the following experiment: an ant was placed in the liquids (blood and 
lymph) squeezed out from the bodies of nest companions and was then put 
back into its nest; it was not attacked. It was then put in the juice taken 
from the inmates of a “‘hostile” nest and was at once attacked and killed. 
Bethe was able to prove by special experiments that these reactions of ants 
are not learned by experience, but are inherited. The ‘‘knowing”’ of 
“friend and foe” among ants is thus reduced to different reactions, depend- 
ing upon the nature of the chemical stimulus and in no way depending upon 
memory. 


Here, again, there is no essential difference between the common 
sense and the scientific explanation of the behavior of the ant except 
so far as the scientific explanation is more accurate, defining the pre- 
cise mechanisms by which the recognition of ‘‘friend and foe”’ is 
effected, and the limitations to which it is subject. 

Another result of the study of the comparative behavior of man 
and the lower animals has been to convince students that there is no 
fundamental difference between what was formerly called intelligent 
and instinctive behavior; that they may rather be reduced, as has 
been said, to the elementary form of reaction represented by the 
simple reflex in animals and the tropism in plants. ‘Thus Loeb says: 


A prominent psychologist has maintained that reflexes are to be con- 
sidered as the mechanical effects of acts of volition of past generations. 
The ganglion-cell seems the only place where such mechanical effects could 
be stored up. It has therefore been considered the most essential element 
of the reflex mechanism, the nerve-fibers being regarded, and probably 
correctly, merely as conductors. 

Both the authors who emphasize the purposefulness of the reflex act, 
and those who see in it only a physical process, have invariably looked 
upon the ganglion-cell as the principal bearer of the structures for the 
complex co-ordinated movements in reflex action. 

I should have been as little inclined as any other physiologist to doubt 
the correctness of this conception had not the establishment of the identity 
of the reactions of animals and plants to light proved the untenability of 
this view and at the same time offered a different conception of reflexes. 


is 
ems aay 


ae 
+ 


i 


84 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The flight of the moth into the flame is a typical reflex process. The light 
stimulates the peripheral sense organs, the stimulus passes to the central 
nervous system, and from there to the muscles of the wings, and the moth 
is caused to fly into the flame. This reflex process agrees in every point 
with the heliotropic effects of light on plant organs. Since plants possess 
no nerves, this identity of animal with plant heliotropism can offer but one 
inference—these heliotropic effects must depend upon conditions which are 
common to both animals and plants. 


On the other hand, Watson, in his Introduction to Comparative 
Psychology, defines the reflex as ‘‘a unit of analysis of instinct,” and 
this means that instinctive actions in man and in animals may be 
regarded as combinations of simple reflex actions, that is to say of 
“fairly definite and generally predictable but unlearned responses of 
lower and higher organisms to stimuli.” Many of these reflex 
responses are not fixed, as they were formerly supposed to be, but 
“highly unstable and indefinite.” This fact makes possible the forma- 
tion of habits, by combination and fixation of these inherited responses. 

These views in the radical form in which they are expressed by 
Loeb and Watson have naturally enough been the subject of con- 
siderable controversy, both on scientific and sentimental grounds. 
They seem to reduce human behavior to a system of chemical and 
physical reactions, and rob life of all its spiritual values. On the 
other hand, it must be remembered that human beings, like other 
forms of nature, have this mechanical aspect and it is precisely the 
business of natural science to discover and lay them bare. It is only 
thus that we are able to gain control over ourselves and of others, 
It is a matter of common experience that we do form habits and that — 
education and social control are largely dependent upon our ability 
to establish habits in ourselves and in others. Habit is, in fact, a 
characteristic example of just what is meant by “mechanism,” in the 
sense in which it is here used. It is through the fixation of habit — 
that we gain that control over our “original nature,” which lifts us 
above the brutes and gives human nature its distinctive character as. 
human. Character is nothing more than the sum and co-ordination 
of those mechanisms which we call habit and which are formed on 
the basis of the inherited and instinctive tendencies and dispositions 3 / 
which we share in so large a measure with the lower animals. 


HUMAN NATURE 








4. The Natural Man: 


“Tts first act is a cry, not of wrath, as Kant said, nor a shout of | 
joy, as Schwartz thought, but a snuffling, and then a long, thin, 
tearless 4-4, with the timbre of a Scotch bagpipe, purely automatic, 
but of discomfort. »With this monotonous and dismal cry, with its 
red, shriveled, parboiled skin (for the child commonly loses weight 
the first few days), squinting, cross-eyed, pot-bellied, and bow-legged, 
it is not strange that, if the mother has not followed Froebel’s exhor- 
tations and come to love her child before birth, there is a brief interval 
occasionally dangerous to the child before the maternal instinct is 
fully aroused.” 

The most curious of all the monkey traits shown by the new-born 
baby is the one investigated by Dr. Louis Robinson. It was sug- 
gested by The Luck of Roaring Camp. The question was raised in 
conversation whether a limp and molluscous baby, unable so much as 
to hold up its head on its helpless little neck, could do anything so 
positive as to “‘rastle with’? Kentuck’s finger; and the more knowing 
persons present insisted that a young baby does, as a matter of fact, 
have a good firm hand-clasp. It occurred to Dr. Robinson that if 
this was true it was a beautiful Darwinian point, for clinging and 
swinging by the arms would naturally have been a specialty with our 
ancestors if they ever lived a monkey-like life in the trees. The 
baby that could cling best to its mother as she used hands, feet, and 
tail to flee in the best time over the trees, or to get at the more inac- 
cessible fruits and eggs in time of scarcity, would be the baby that 
lived to bequeath his traits to his descendants; so that to this day 
our housed and cradled human babies would keep in their clinging 
powers a reminiscence of our wild treetop days. 

There is-another class of movements, often confused with the 
reflex—that is, instinctive movements. Real grasping (as distin- 
guished from reflex grasping), biting, standing, walking, are examples 
of this class. They are race movements, the habits of the species to 
which the animal belongs, and every normal member of the species is 
bound to come to them; yet they are not so fixed in the bodily 
mechanism as the reflex movements. 


t Adapted from Milicent W. Shinn, The Biography of a Baby, pp. 20-77. 
(Houghton Mifflin Co., 1900. Author’s copyright.) 


86 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The one instinct the human baby always brings into the world 
already developed is half a mere reflex act—that of sucking. It is 
started as a reflex would be, by the touch of some object—pencil, 
finger, or nipple, it may be—between the lips; but it does not act 
like a reflex after that. It continues and ceases without reference 
to this external stimulus, and a little later often begins without it, 
or fails to begin when the stimulus is given. If it has originally 
a reflex character, that character fades out and leaves it a pure 
instinct. 

My little niece evidently felt a difference between light and 
darkness from the first hour, for she stopped crying when her face 
was exposed to gentle light. Two or three report also a turning of 
the head toward the light within the first week. ‘The nurse, who was 
intelligent and exact, thought she saw this in the case of my niece. 
I did not, but I saw instead a constant turning of the eyes toward a 
person coming near her—that is, toward a large dark mass that 
interrupted the light. No other sign of vision appeared in the little 
one during the first fortnight. The eyes were directed to nothing, 
fixed on nothing. They did not wink if one made a pass at them. 
There was no change of focus for near or distant seeing. 

The baby showed no sign of hearing anything until the third day, 
when she started violently at the sound of tearing paper, some eight 
feet from her. After that, occasional harsh or sudden sounds— 
oftener the rustling of paper than anything else—could make her 
start or cry. It is well established by the careful tests of several 
physiologists that babies are deaf for a period lasting from several 
hours to several days after birth. 

Taste and smell were senses that the baby gave no sign of owning 
till much later. The satisfaction of hunger was quite enough to 
account for the contentment she showed in nursing; and when she 
was not hungry she would suck the most tasteless object as cheer- 
fully as any other. 

Our baby showed from the first that she was aware when she was 
touched. She stopped crying when she was cuddled or patted. She 
showed comfort in the bath, which may have been in part due to 
freedom from the contact of clothes, and to liking for the soft touches 
of the water. She responded with sucking motions to the first 
touch of the nipple on her lips. 


HUMAN NATURE ~— ; 87 


Our baby showed temperament—luckily of the easy-going and 
cheerful kind—from her first day, though we could hardly see this 
except looking back .4 On the twenty-fifth day, toward 
evening, when the baby was lying on her grandmother’s knee by the 
fire, in a condition of high well-being and content, gazing at her 
grandmother’s face with an expression of attention, I came and sat 
down close by, leaning over the baby, so that my face must have 
come within the indirect range of her vision. At that she turned 
her eyes to my face and gazed at it with the same appearance of 
attention, and even of some effort, shown by the slight tension of 
brows and lips, then turned her eyes back to her grandmother’s face, 
and again to mine, and so several times. The last time she seemed 
to catch sight of my shoulder, on which a high light struck from the 
lamp, and not only moved her eyes but threw her head far back to 
see it better, and gazed for some time with a new expression on her 
face—“‘a sort of dim and rudimentary eagerness,’ says my note. 
She no longer stared, but really looked. 

The baby’s increased interest in seeing centered especially on the 
faces about her, at which she gazed with rapt interest. Even during 
the period of mere staring, faces had oftenest held her eyes, probably 
because they were oftener brought within the range of her clearest 
seeing than other light surfaces. ‘The large, light, moving patch of 
the human face (as Preyer has pointed out) coming and going in the 
field of vision, and oftener chancing to hover at the point of clearest 
seeing than any other object, embellished with a play of high lights 
on cheeks, teeth, and eyes, is calculated to excite the highest degree 
of attention a baby is capable of at a month old. So from the 
very first—before the baby has yet really seen his mother—her face 
and that of his other nearest friends become the most active 
agents in his development and the most interesting things in his 
experience. 

Our baby was at this time in a way aware of the difference between 
companionship and solitude. Jn the latter days of the first month 
she would lie contentedly in the room with people near by, but would 
fret if left alone. But by the end of the month she was apt to fret 
when she was laid down on a chair or lounge, and to become content 
only when taken into the lap. This was not yet distinct memory 
and desire, but it showed that associations of pleasure had been 


88 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


formed with the lap, and that she felt a vague discomfort in the 
absence of these. 

Nature has provided an educational appliance almost ideally 
adapted to the child’s sense condition, in the mother’s face, hovering 
close above him, smiling, laughing, nodding, with all manner of 
delightful changes in the high lights; in the thousand little meaning- 
less caressing sounds, the singing, talking, calling, that proceed from 
it; the patting, cuddling, lifting, and all the ministrations that the 
baby feels while gazing at it, and associates with it, till finally they 
group together and round out into the idea of his mother as a whole. 

Our baby’s mother rather resented the idea of being to her baby 
only a collection of detached phenomena, instead of a mamma; but 
the more you think of it, the more flattering it is to be thus, as it 
were, dissolved into your elements and incorporated item by item 
into the very foundations of your baby’s mental life. Herein is 
hinted much of the philosophy of personality; and Professor Baldwin 
has written a solid book, mainly to show from the development of 
babies and little children that all cther people are part of each of us, 
and each of us is part of all other people, and so there is really no 
separate personality, but we are all one spirit, if we did but know it. 


5. Sex Differences: 

As children become physically differentiated in respect of sex, so 
also does a mental differentiation ensue. Differences are observed 
in the matter of occupation, of games, of movements, and numerous 
other details. Since man is to play the active part in life, boys 
rejoice especially in rough outdoor games. Girls, on the other hand, 
prefer such games as correspond to their future occupations. Hence 
their inclination to mother smaller children, and to play with dolls. 
Watch how a little girl takes care of her doll, washes it, dresses and 
undresses it. When only six or seven years of age she is often an 
excellent nurse. Her need to occupy herself in such activities is 
often so great that she pretends that her doll is ill. 

In all kinds of ways, we see the little girl occupying herself 1 
activities and inclinations of her future existence. Shi 
house work; she has a little kitchen, in which she cooks fe 

t From Albert Moll, Sexual Eife\of the Child, pp. 38-49. Translate 


German by Dr. Eden Paul. (Published by The Macmillan Co., 1902 
by permission.) 







HUMAN NATURE 89 


and her doll. She is fond of needlework. The care of her own per- 
son, and more especially its adornment, is not forgotten. I remember 
seeing a girl of three who kept on interrupting her elders’ conversa- 
tion by crying out, ‘‘ New clothes!” and would not keep quiet until 
these latter had been duly admired. The love of self-adornment is 
almost peculiar to female children; boys, on the other hand, prefer 
rough outdoor games, in which their muscles are actively employed, 
robber-games, soldier-games, and the like. And whereas, in early 
childhood, both sexes are fond of very noisy games, the fondness for 
these disappears earlier in girls than in boys. 

Differences between the sexes have been established also by 
means of experimental psychology, based upon the examination of a 
very large number of instances. Berthold Hartmann has studied the 
childish circle of thought, by means of a series of experiments. School- 
boys to the number of 660 and schoolgirls to the number of 652, at 
ages between five and three-fourths and six and three-fourths years, 
were subjected to examination. It was very remarkable to see how, 
in respect to certain ideas, such as those of the triangle, cube, and 
circle, the girls greatly excelled the boys; whereas in respect of 
animals, minerals, and social ideas, the boys were better informed 
than the girls. Characteristic of the differences between the sexes, 
according to Meumann, from whom I take these details and some of 
those that follow, is the fact that the idea of “marriage” was known 
to only 70 boys ag compared to 227 girls; whilst the idea of “infant 
baptism” was known to 180 boys as compared to 220 girls. The 
idea of “‘pleasure’’ was also much better understood by girls than 
by boys. Examination of the memory has also established the 
existence of differences between the sexes in childhood. In boys the 
memory for objects appears to be at first the best developed; to this 
succeeds the memory for words with a visual content; in che case of 
girls, the reverse of this was observed. In respect of numerous 
details, however, the authorities conflict. Very striking is the fact, 
one upon which a very large number of investigators are agreed, that 
girls have a superior k colors. 

There are additional psychological data relating to the differences 
between the sexes in childhood. I may recall Stern’s investigations 
concerning the psychology of evidence, which showed that girls were 
much more inaccurate than boys. 


go INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It has been widely assumed that these psychical differences 
between the sexes result from education, and are not inborn. Others, 
however, assume that the psychical characteristics by which the sexes 
are differentiated result solely from individual differences in educa- 
tion. Stern believes that in the case of one differential character, at 
least, he can prove that for many centuries there has been no differ- 
ence between the sexes in the matter of education; this character is 
the capacity for drawing. Kerschensteiner has studied the develop- 
ment of this gift, and considers that his results have established 
beyond dispute that girls are greatly inferior in this respect to boys of 
like age. Stern points out that there can be no question here of 
cultivation leading to a sexual differentiation of faculty, since there 
is no attempt at a general and systematic teaching of draughtsman- 
ship to the members of one sex to the exclusion of members of the 
other. 

I believe that we are justified in asserting that at the present 
time the sexual differentiation manifested in respect of quite a num- 
ber of psychical qualities is the result of direct inheritance. It would 
be quite wrong to assume that all these differences arise in each 
individual in consequence of education. It does, indeed, appear to 
me to be true that inherited tendencies may be increased or dimin- 
ished by individual education; and further, that when the inherited | 
tendency is not a very powerful one, it may in this way even be 
suppressed. } 

We must not forget the frequent intimate association between 
structure and function. Rough outdoor games and wrestling thus 
correspond to the physical constitution of the boy. So, also, it is by 
no means improbable that the little girl, whose pelvis and hips have 
already begun to indicate by their development their adaption for 
the supreme functions of the sexually mature woman, should experi- 
ence obscurely a certain impulsion toward her predestined maternal 
occupation, and that her inclinations and amusements should in this 
way be determined. Many, indeed, and above all the extreme 
advocates of women’s rights, prefer to maintain that such sexually 
differentiated inclinations result solely from differences in individual 
education: if the boy has no enduring taste for dolls and cooking, 
this is because his mother and others have told him, perhaps with 
mockery, that such amusements are unsuited to a boy; whilst in a 


HUMAN NATURE OI 


similar way the girl is dissuaded from the rough sports of boyhood. 
Such an assumption is the expression of that general psychological 
and educational tendency, which ascribes to the activity of the will 
an overwhelmingly powerful influence upon the development of the 
organs subserving the intellect, and secondarily also upon that of the 
other organs of the body. We cannot dispute the fact that in such a 
way the activity of the will may, within certain limits, be effective, 
especially in cases in which the inherited tendency thus counter- 
acted is comparatively weak; but only within certain limits. Thus 
we can understand how it is that in some cases, by means of education, 
a child is impressed with characteristics normally foreign to its sex; 
qualities and tendencies are thus developed which ordinarily appear 
only in a child of the opposite sex. But even though we must admit 
that the activity of the individual may operate in this way, none the 
less we are compelled to assume that certain tendencies are inborn. 
The failure of innumerable attempts to counteract such inborn 
tendencies by means of education throws a strong light upon the 
limitations of the activity of the individual will; and the same must 
be said of a large number of other experiences. 

Criminological experiences appear also to confirm the notion of 
an inherited sexual differentiation, in children as well as in adults. 
According to various statistics, embracing not only the period of 
childhood, but including as well the period of youth, we learn that 
girls constitute one-fifth only of the total number of youthful criminals. 
A number of different explanations have been offered to account for 
this disproportion. ‘Thus, for instance, attention has been drawn to 
the fact that a girl’s physical weakness renders her incapable of 
attempting violent assaults upon the person, and this would suffice 
to explain why it is that girls so rarely commit such crimes. In the 
case of offenses for which bodily strength is less requisite, such as 
fraud, theft, etc., the number of youthful female offenders is propor- 
tionately larger, although here also they are less numerous than 
males of corresponding age charged with the like offenses. It has 
been asserted that in the law courts girls find more sympathy than 
boys, and that for this reason the former receive milder sentences 
than the latter; hence it results that in appearance merely the 
criminality of girls is less than that of boys. Others, again, refer the 
differences in respect of criminality between the youthf] members 


92 | INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of the two sexes to the influences of education and general environ- 
ment. Morrison, however, maintains that all these influences com- 
bined are yet insufficient to account for the great disproportion 
between the sexes, and insists that there exists in youth as well as 
in adult life a specific sexual differentiation, based, for the most part, 
upon biological differences of a mental and physical character. 

Such a marked differentiation as there is between the adult man 
and the adult woman certainly does not exist in childhood. Similarly 
in respect of many other qualities, alike bodily and mental, in respect 
of many inclinations and numerous activities, we find that in child- 
hood sexual differentiation is less marked than it is in adult life. 
None the less, a number of sexual differences can be shown to exist 
even in childhood; and as regards many other differences, though 
they are not yet apparent, we are nevertheless compelled to assume 
that they already exist potentially in the organs of the child. 


6. Racial Differences! 


The results of the Cambridge expedition to the Torres Straits 
have shown that in acuteness of vision, hearing, smell, etc., these 
peoples are not noticeably different from our own. We conclude 
that the remarkable tales adduced to the contrary by various travelers 
are to be explained, not by the acuteness of sensation, but by the 
acuteness of interpretation of primitive peoples. Take the savage 
into the streets of a busy city and see what a number of sights and 
sounds he will neglect because of their meaninglessness to him. ‘Take 
the sailor whose powers of discerning a ship on the horizon appear to 
the landsman so extraordinary, and set him to detect micro-organisms 
in the field of a microscope. Is it then surprising that primitive man 
should be able to draw inferences which to the stranger appear mar- 
velous, from the merest specks in the far distance or from the faintest 
sounds, odors, or tracks in the jungle? Such behavior serves only 
to attest the extraordinary powers of observation in primitive man 
with respect to things which are of use and hence of interest to him. 
The same powers are shown in the vast number of words he will coin 
to denote the same object, say a certain tree at different stages of 
its growth. 

From C. S. Myers, ‘‘On the Permanence of Racial Differences,” in Papers 
on Inter-racial Problems, edited by G. Spiller, pp. 74-76. (P.S. King & Son, 1911.) 


HUMAN NATURE 93 


We concluded, then, that no fundamental difference in powers of 
sensory acuity, nor, indeed, in sensory discrimination, exists between 
primitive and civilized communities. Further, there is no proof of 
any difference in memory between them, save, perhaps, in a greater 
tendency for primitive folk to use and to excel in mere mechanical 
learning, in preference to rational learning. But this surely is also 
the characteristic of the European peasant. He will never commit 
things to memory by thinking of their meaning, if he can learn them 
' by rote. 

In temperament we meet with just the same variations in primi- 
tive as in civilized communities. In every primitive society is to be 
found the flighty, the staid, the energetic, the indolent, the cheer- 
ful, the morose, the even-, the hot-tempered, the unthinking, the 
philosophical individual. At the same time, the average differences 
between different primitive peoples are as striking as those between 
the average German and the average Italian. 

It is a common but manifest error to suppose that primitive man 
is distinguished from the civilized peasant in that he is freer and that 
his conduct is less under control. On the contrary, the savage is 
probably far more hidebound than we are by social regulations. His 
life is one round of adherence to the demands of custom. For 
instance, he may be compelled even to hand over his own children 
at their birth to others; he may be prohibited from speaking to 
certain of his relatives; his choice of a wife may be very strictly 
limited by traditional laws; at every turn there are ceremonies to be 
performed and presents to be made by him so that misfortune may 
be safely averted. As to the control which primitive folk exercise 
over their conduct, this varies enormously among different peoples; 
but if desired, I could bring many instances of self-control before you 
which would put to shame the members even of our most civilized 
communities. 

Now since in all these various mental characters no appreciable 
difference exists between primitive and advanced communities, the 
question arises, what is the most important difference between them ? 
I shall be told, in the capacity for logical and abstract thought. But 
by how much logical and abstract thought is the European peasant 
superior to his primitive brother? Study our country folklore, 
study the actual practices in regard to healing and religion which 


04 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


prevail in every European peasant community today, and what 
essential differences are discoverable? Of course, it will be urged 
that these practices are continued unthinkingly, that they are merely 
vestiges of a period when once they were believed and were fulk’of 
meaning. But this, I am convinced, is far from being generally 
true, and it also certainly applies to many of the ceremonies and 
customs of primitive peoples. 

It will be said that although the European peasant may not in 
the main think more logically and abstractly, he has, nevertheless, 
the potentiality for such thought, should only the conditions for its 
manifestations—education and the like—ever be given. From such 
as he have been produced the geniuses of Europe—the long line of 
artists and inventors who have risen from the lowest ranks. 

I will consider this objection later. At present it is sufficient for 
my purpose to have secured the admission that the peasants of 
Europe do not as a whole use their mental powers in a much more 
logical or abstract manner than do primitive people. I maintain 
that such superiority as they have is due to differences (1) of environ- 
ment and (2) of variability. 

We must remember that the European peasant grows up in a 
(more or less) civilized environment; he learns a (more or less) well- 
developed and written language, which serves as an easier instrument 
and a stronger inducement for abstract thought; he is born into 
a (more or less) advanced religion. All these advantages and the 
advantage of a more complex education the European peasant owes 
to-his superiors in ability and civilization. Rob the peasant of these 
opportunities, plunge him into the social environment of present 
primitive man, and what difference in thinking power will be left 
between them P 

The answer to this question brings me to the second point of 
difference which I have mentioned—the difference in variability. I 
have already alluded to the divergencies in temperament to be 
found among the members of every primitive community. But well 
marked as are these and other individual differences, I suspect that 
they are less prominent among primitive than among more advanced 
peoples. This difference in variability, if really existent, is probably 
the outcome of more frequent racial admixture and more complex 
social environment in civilized communities. In another sense, the 


hi | 
HUMAN NATURE 9s 


—s Tt 


variability of the savage is indicated by the comparative data afforded 
by certain psychological investigations. A civilized community may 
not differ much from a primitive one in the mean or average of a 
given character, but the extreme deviations which it shows from 
that mean will be more numerous and more pronounced. This kind 
of variability has probably another source. ‘The members of a primi- 
tive community behave toward the applied test in the simplest man- 
ner, by the use of a mental process which we will call A, whereas 
those of a more advanced civilization employ other mental processes, 
in addition to A, say B, C, D, or E, each individual using them in 
different degrees for the performance of one and the same test. 
Finally, there is in all likelihood a third kind of variability, whose 
origin is ultimately environmental, which is manifested by extremes 
of nervous instability. Probably the exceptionally defective and the 
exceptional genius are more common among civilized than among 
primitive peoples. 

Similar features undoubtedly meet us in the study of sexual differ- 
ences. ‘The average results of various tests of mental ability applied 
to men and women are not, on the whole, very different for the two 
sexes, but the men always show considerably greater individual 
variation than the women. And here, at all events, the relation 
between the frequency of mental deficiency and genius in the two 
sexes is unquestionable. Our asylums contain a considerably greater 
number of males than of females, as a compensation for which genius 
is decidedly less frequent in females than in males. 


#e 
we 


7. Individual Differences’ ‘i 

The life of a man is a double series—a series of effects produced 
in him by the rest of the world, and a series of effects produced in that 
world by him. A man’s make-up or nature equals his tendencies 
to be influenced in certain ways by the world and to react in certain 
ways to it. 

If we could thus adequately describe each of a million human 
beings—if, for each one, we could prophesy just what the response 
would be to every possible situation of life—the million men would 
be found to differ widely. Probably no two out of the million would 


* From Edward L. Thorndike, Individuality, pp. 1-8. (By permission of and 
special arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Co., 1911.) 


96 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


be so alike in mental nature as to be indistinguishable by one who 
knew their entire natures. Each has an individuality which marks 
him off from other men. We may study a human being in respect to 
his common humanity, or in respect to his individuality. In other 
words, we may study the features of intellect and character which 
are common to all men, to man as a species; or we may study the 
differences in intellect and character which distinguish individual men. 

Individuals are commonly considered as differing in respect to 
such traits either quantitatively or qualitatively, either in degree or 
in kind. A quantitative difference exists when the individuals have 
different amounts of the same trait. Thus, “John is more attentive 
to his teacher than James is’”’; “Mary loves dolls less than Lucy 
does”; ‘‘A-had greater devotion to his country than B had”’; are 
reports of quantitative differences, of differences in the amount of 
what is assumed to be the same kind of thing. A qualitative differ- 
ence exists when some quality or trait possessed by one individual 
is lacking in the other. Thus, ‘‘Tom knows German, Dick does not”’; 
‘A is artistic, B is scientific’; “‘C is a man of thought, D is a man of 
action’’; are reports of the fact that Tom has some positive amount 
or degree of the trait ‘‘knowledge of German” while Dick has none of 
it; that A has some positive amount of ability and interest in art 
while B has zero; whereas B has a positive amount of ability in 
science, of which A has none; and so on. 

A qualitative difference in intellect or character is thus really a 
quantitative difference wherein one term is zero, or a compound of 
two or more quantitative differences. All intelligible differences are 
ultimately quantitative. The difference between any two individuals, 
if describable at all, is described by comparing the amounts which 
A possesses of various traits with the amounts which B possesses of 
the same traits. In intellect and- character, differences of kind 
between one individual and another turn out to be definable, if defined 
at all, as compound differences of degree. 

If we could list all the traits, each representing some one char- 
acteristic of human nature, and measure the amount of each of them 
possessed by a man, we could represent his nature—read his character 
—in a great equation. John Smith would equal so many units of 
this, plus so many units of that, and soon. Such a mental inventory 
would express his individuality conceivably in its entirety and with 


HUMAN NATURE - 97 


great exactitude. No such list has been made for any man, much 
less have the exact amounts of each trait possessed by him been 
measured. But in certain of the traits, many individuals have been 
measured; and certain individuals have been measured, each in a 
large number of traits. . 

It is useless to recount the traits in which men have been found to 
differ. For there is no trait in which they do not differ. Of course, 
if the scale by which individuals are measured is very coarsely divided, 
their differences may be hidden. If, for example, ability to learn is 
measured on a scale with only two divisions, (1) “ability to learn less 
than the average kitten can” and (2) ‘‘ability to learn more than the 
average kitten can,” all men may be put in class two, just as if their 
heights were measured on a scale of one yard, two yards, or three 
yards, nearly all men would alike be called two yards high. But 
whenever the scale of measurement is made fine enough, differences 
at once appear. Their existence is indubitable to any impartial 
observer. ‘The early psychologists neglected or failed to see them 
precisely because the early psychology was partial. It believed ina 
typical or pattern mind, after the manner of which all minds were 
created, and from whom they differed only by rare accidents. It 
studied ‘‘the mind,” and neglected individual minds. It studied 
“the will” of ‘‘man,” neglecting the interests, impulses, and habits 
of actual men. | | 

The differences exist at birth and commonly increase with prog- 
ress toward maturity. Individuality is already clearly manifest in 
children of school age. The same situation evokes widely differing 
responses; the same task is done at differing speeds and with different 
degrees of success; the same treatment produces differing results. 
There can be little doubt that of a thousand ten-year-olds taken at 
random, some will be four times as energetic, industrious, quick, 
courageous, or honest as others, or will possess four times as much 
refinement, knowledge of arithmetic, power of self-control, sympathy, 
or the like. It has been found that among children of the same age 
and, in essential respects, of the same home training and school 
advantages, some do in the same time six times as much, or do the 
same amount with only one-tenth as many errors. 


08 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


B. HUMAN NATURE AND SOCIAL LIFE 


1. Human Nature and Its Remaking’ 


rs 
a 


Human beings as we find them are artificial products; and for 
better or for worse they must always be such. Nature has made us: 
social action and our own efforts must continually remake us. Any 
attempt to reject art for “nature” can only result in an artificial 
naturalness which is far less genuine and less pleasing than the natural 
work of art. | 

Further, as self-consciousness varies, the amount or degree of 
this remaking activity will vary. Among the extremely few respects 
in which human history shows unquestionable growth we must 
include the degree and range of self-consciousness. The gradual 
development of psychology as a science and the persistent advance 
of the subjective or introspective element in literature and in all fine 
art are tokens of this change. And as a further indication and 
result, the art of human reshaping has taken definite character, has 
left its incidental beginnings far behind, has become an institution, 
a group of institutions. } 

Wherever a language exists, as a magazine of established meanings, 
there will be found a repertoire of epithets of praise and blame, at 
once results and implements of this social process. The simple 
existence of such a vocabulary acts as a persistent force; but the 
effect of current ideals is redoubled when a coherent agency, such 
as public religion, assumes protection of the most searching social 
maxims and lends to them the weight of all time, all space, all wonder, 
and all fear. For many centuries religion held within itself the 
ripening self-knowledge and self-discipline of the human mind. Now, 
beside this original azency we have its offshoots, politics, education, 
legislation, the penal art. And the philosophical sciences, including 
psychology and ethics, are the especial servants of these arts. 

As to structure, human nature is undoubtedly the most plastic 

part of the living world, the most adaptable, the most educable. Of 
scious building forces for most. Consider that his infancy is longest, 
his instincts least fixed, his brain most unfinished at birth, his powers 
of habit-making and habit-changing most marked, his susceptibility 


From W. E. Hocking, Human Nature and Its Remaking, pp. 2-12. (Yale 
University Press, 1918.) 


HUMAN NATURE 99 


to social impressions keenest; and it becomes clear that in every way 
nature, as a prescriptive power, has provided in him for her own dis- 
placement. His major instincts and passions first appear ‘he 
scene, not as controlling forces, but as elements of play, in a pro- 
longed life of play. Other creatures nature could largely, finish: 
the human creature must finish himself. 

And as to history, it cannot be said that the results of man’s 
attempts at self-modeling appear to belie the liberty thus promised 
in his constitution. If he has retired his natural integument in 
favor of a device called clothing, capable of expressing endless nuances, 
not alone of status and wealth, but of temper and taste as well— 
conservatism or venturesomeness, solemnity, gaiety, profusion, color, 
dignity, carelessness or whim, he has not failed to fashion his inner 
self into equally various modes of character and custom. That is a 
hazardous refutation of socialism which consists in pointing out that 
its success would require a change in human nature. Under the 
spell of particular ideas monastic communities have flourished, in 
comparison with whose demands upon human nature the change 
required by socialism—so far as it calls for purer altruism and not 
pure economic folly—is trivial. To any one who asserts. as a dogma 
that “human nature never changes,” it is fair to reply, “It is human 
nature to change itself.” 

When one reflects to what extent racial and national traits are 
manners of the mind, fixed by social rather than by physical heredity, 
while the bodily characters themselves may be due ‘in no small 
measure to sexual choices at first experimental, then imitative, then 
habitual, one is not disposed to think lightly of the human capacity 
for self-modification. But it is still possible to be skeptical as to 
the depth and permanence of any changes which are genuinely 
voluntary. There are few maxims of conduct, and few laws so con- 
trary to nature that they could not be put into momentary effect by 
individuals or by communities. Plato’s Republic has never been 
fairly tried; but fragments of this and other Utopias have been 
common enough in history. No one presumes to limit what men can 
attempt; one only inquires what the silent forces are which determine 
what can Jast. 

What, to be explicit, is the possible future of measures dealing with 
divorce, with war, with political corruption, with prostitution, with 





I0O INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


superstition? Enthusiastic idealism is too precious an energy to 
be wasted if we can spare it false efforts by recognizing those perma- 
nent ingredients of our being indicated by the words pugnacity, 
greed, sex, fear. Machiavelli was not inclined to make little of what 
an unhampered ruler could do with his subjects; yet he saw in such 
passions as these a fixed limit to the power of the Prince. “It makes 
him hated above all things to be rapacious, and to be violator of 
the property and women of his subjects, from both of which he must 
abstain.”” And if Machiavelli’s despotism meets its master in the 
undercurrents of human instinct, governments of less determined 
stripe, whether of states or of persons, would hardly do well to treat 
these ultimate data with less respect. 


2. Human Nature, Folkways, and the Mores? 


It is generally taken for granted that men inherited some guiding 
instincts from their beast ancestry, and it may be true, although it 
has never been proved. If there were such inheritances, they con- 
trolled and aided the first efforts to satisfy needs. Analogy makes 
it easy to assume that the ways of beasts had produced channels of 
habit and predisposition along which dexterities and other psycho- 
physical activities would run easily. Experiments with new born 
animals show that in the absence of any experience of the relation 
of means to ends, efforts to satisfy needs are clumsy and blundering. 
The method is that of trial and failure, which produces repeated 
pain, loss, and disappointments. Nevertheless, it 1s the method of 
rude experiment and selection. The earliest efforts of men were of 
this kind. Need was the impelling force. Pleasure and pain, on 
the one side and the other, were the rude constraints which defined 
the line on which efforts must proceed. The ability to distinguish 
between pleasure and pain is the only psychical power which is to 
be assumed. Thus ways of doing things were selected which were 
expedient. They answered the purpose better than other ways, or 
with less toil and pain. Along the course on which efforts were 
compelled to go, habit, routine, and skill were developed. The 
struggle to.maintain existence was carried on, not individually, but 
in groups. Each profited by the other’s experience; hence there 
was concurrence toward that which proved to be most. expedient. 


From William G. Sumner, Folkways, pp. 2-8. (Ginn & Co., 1906.) 


HUMAN NATURE IOI 


All at last adopted the same way for the same purpose; hence the 
ways turned into customs and became mass phenomena. Instincts 
were developed in connection with them. In this way folkways arise. 
The young learn them by tradition, imitation, and authority. The 
folkways, at a time, provide for all the needs of life then and there. 
They are uniform, universal in the group, imperative, and invariable. 

The operation by which folkways are produced consists in the 
frequent repetition of petty acts, often by great numbers acting in 
concert or, at least, acting in the same way when face to face with 
the same need. The immediate motive is interest. It produces habit 
in the individual and custom in the group. It is, therefore, in the 
highest degree original and primitive. Out of the unconscious experi- 
ment which every repetition of the ways includes, there issues pleasure 
or pain, and then, so far as the men are capable of reflection, con- 
victions that the ways are conducive to social welfare. When this 
conviction as to the relation to welfare is added to the folkways, they 
are converted into mores, and, by virtue of the philosophical and 
ethical element added to them, they win utility and importance and 
become the source of the science and the art of living. 

It is of the first importance to notice that, from the first acts by 
which men try to satisfy needs, each act stands by itself, and looks 
no further than immediate satisfaction. From recurrent needs arise 
habits for the individual and customs for the group, but these results 
are consequences which were never conscious and never foreseen or 
intended. They are not noticed until they have long existed, and it 
is still longer before they are appreciated. Another long time must 
pass, and a higher stage of mental development must be reached, 
before they can be used as a basis from which to deduce rules for 
meeting, in the future, problems whcse pressure can be foreseen. 
The folkways, therefore, are not creations’ of human purpose and wit. 
They are like products of natural forces which men unconsciously set 
in operation, or the hey are like the ins instinctive ways of animals, which 
are developed out of experience, which reach a final form of maximum 
adaptation to an interest, which are handed down by tradition and 
admit of no exception or variation, yet change to meet new condi- 
tions, still within the same limited methods, and without rational 
reflection or purpose. From this it results that all the life of human 
beings, in all ages and stages of culture, is primarily controlled by a 


102 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


vast mass of folkways handed down from the earliest existence of the 
race, having the nature of the ways of other animals, only the top- 
most layers of which are subject to change and control, and have 
been somewhat modified by human philosophy, ethics, and religion, 
or by other acts of intelligent reflection. We are told of savages that 
“it is difficult to exhaust the customs and small ceremonial usages 
of a savage people. Custom regulates the whole of aman’s actions— 
his bathing, washing, cutting his hair, eating, drinking, and fasting. 
From his cradle to his grave he is the slave of ancient usage. In his 
life there is nothing free, nothing original, nothing spontaneous, no ~ 
progress toward a higher and better life, and no attempt to improve 
his condition, mentally, morally, or spiritually.” All men act in 
this way, with only a little wider margin of voluntary variation. 

The folkways are, therefore: (1) subject to a strain of improve- 
ment toward better adaptation of means to ends, as long as the 
adaptation is so imperfect that pain is produced. They are also 
(2) subject to a strain of consistency with each other, because they 
all answer their several purposes with less friction and antagonism 
when they co-operate and support each other. The forms of indus- 
try, the forms of the family, the notions of property, the constructions 
of rights, and the types of religion show the strain of consistency, with 
each other through the whole history of civilization. The two great 
cultural divisions of the human race are the oriental and occidental. 
Each is consistent throughout; each has its own philosophy and 
spirit; they are separated from top to bottom by different mores, 
different standpoints, different ways, and different notions of what 
societal arrangements are advantageous. In their contrast they 
keep before our minds the possible range of divergence in the solu- 
tion of the great problems of human life, and in the views of earthly 
existence by which life-policy may be controlled. If two planets 
were joined in one, their inhabitants could not differ more widely as 
to what things are best worth seeking, or what ways are most expedient 
for well-living. 

Custom is the product of concurrent action through time. We 
find it existent and in control at the extreme reach of our investiga- 
tions. Whence does it begin, and how does it come to be? How 
can it give guidance ‘“‘at the outset’? All mass actions seem to 
begin because the mass wants to act together. The less they know 


~ 


HUMAN NATURE 103 


what it is right and best to do, the more open they are to suggestion 
from an incident in nature, or from a chance act of one, or from the 
current doctrines of ghost fear. A concurrent drift begins which is 
subject to later correction. That being so, it is evident that instinc- 
tive action, under the guidance of traditional folkways, is an operation 
of the first importance in all societal matters. Since the custom never 
can be antecedent to all action, what we should desire most is to 
see it arise out of the first actions, but, inasmuch as that is impossible, 
the course of the action after it is started is our field of study. The 
origin of primitive customs is always lost in mystery, because when 
the.action begins the men are never conscious of historical action or 
of the historical importance of what they are doing. When they 
become conscious of the historical importance of their acts, the 
origin is already far behind. 


<} Habit and Custom, the Individual and the General Will 


The term Site (mores) is a synonym of habit and of usage, of 
convention and tradition, but also of fashion, propriety, practise, and 
the like. Those words which characterize the habitual are usually 
regarded as having essentially unequivocal meanings. The truth is 
that language, careless of the more fundamental distinctions, con- 
fuses widely different connotations. For example, I find that cus- 
tom—to return to this most common expression—has a threefold 
significance, namely: 

1. The meaning of a simple objective matter of fact-—In this sense 
we speak of the man with the habit of early rising, or of walking at a 
particular time, or of taking an afternoon nap. By this we mean 
merely that he is accustomed to do so, he does it regularly, it is a 
part of his manner of life. It is easily understood how this meaning 
passes over into the next: 

2. The meaning of a rule, of a norm which the man sets up for him- 
self—For example, we say he has made this or that a custom, and ina 
like meaning, he has made it a rule, or even a law; and we mean 
that this habit works likea law ora precept. By it a person governs 
himself and regards habit as an imperative command, a structure of 
subjective kind, that, however, has objective form and recognition. 


* Translated and adapted from Ferdinand Tonnies, Die Sitte, pp. 7-14. 
(Literarische Anstalt, Riitten und Loening, 1909.) 


104 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The precept will be formulated, the original will be copied. A rule 
may be presented as enjoined,:insisted upon, imposed as a command 
which brings up the third meaning of habit: 

3. An expression for a thing willed, or a will.—This third meaning, » 
which is generally given the least consideration, is the most significant. 
If, in truth, habit is the will of man, then this alone can be his real: 
will. In this cme ae ee that habit is called a 
second nature, and that man is a creature of habit. Habit is, in 
fact, a psychic disposition, which drives and urges to a specific act, 
and this is the will in its most outstanding form, as decision, or as 
“fixed”? purpose. ° 

Imperceptibly, the habitual passes over into the instinctive and 
the impulsive. What we are accustomed to do, that we do ‘“‘auto- 
matically.” Likewise we automatically make gestures, movements 
of welcome and aversion which we have never learned but which we 
do ‘‘naturally.”” They have their springs of action in the instinct of 
self-preservation and in the feelings connected with it. But what 
we are accustomed to do, we must first have learned and practiced. 
It is just that practice, the frequent repetition, that brings about the 
performance of the act “‘of itself,” like a reflex, rapidly and easily. 
The rope dancer is able to walk the rope, because he is accustomed 
to it. Habit and practice are also the reasons not only why a man 
can perform something but also why he performs it with relatively 
less effort and attention. Habit is the basis not only for our knowing 
something but also for our actually doing it. Habit operates as a | 
kind of stimulus, and, as may be said, as necessity. The ‘‘power of 
habit”’ has often been described and often condemned. 

As a rule, opinions (mental attitudes) are dependent upon habit, 
by which they are conditioned and circumscribed. Yet, of course, 
opinions can also detach themselves from habit, and rise above it, 
and this is done successfully when they become general opinions, 
principles, convictions. As such they gain strength which may even 
break down and overcome habit. Faith, taken in the conventional 
religious sense of assurance of things hoped for, is a primitive form 
of will. While in general habit and opinion on the whole agree, 
there is nevertheless in their relations the seeds of conflict and struggle. 
Thought continually tends to become the dominating element of the 
mind, and man thereby becomes the more human. 


HUMAN NATURE 105 


The same meaning that the will, in the usual individual sense, has 
for individual man, the social will has for any community or society, 
whether there be a mere loose relationship, or a formal union and 
permanent association. And what is this meaning? I have pointed 
this out in my discussion of habit, and present here the more general 
statement: The social will is the general volition which serves for 
the government and regulation of individual wills.’ Every general 
volition can be conceived as corresponding to a “thou shalt,” and in 
so far as an individual or an association of individuals directs this 
“thou shalt” to itself, we recognize the autonomy and freedom of 
this individual or of this association. The necessary consequence 
of this is that the individual against all opposing inclinations and 
opinions, the association against opposing individuals, wherever 
their opposition manifests itself, attempt, at least, to carry through 
their will so that they work as a constraint and exert pressure. And 
this is essentially independent of the means which are used to that 
end. ‘These pressures extend, at least in the social sense, from meas- 
ures of persuasion, which appea! to a sense of honor and of shame, 
tc actual coercion and punishment which may take the form of 
physical compulsion. Sitie develops into the most unbending, over- 
powering force. 


i 4. The Law, Conscience, and the General Will' 
tn f 


he English language we have no name for it (Sittlichkeit), and 
this is unfortunate, for the lack of a distinctive name has occasioned 
confusion both of thought and of expression. Sitilichkeit is_the 
system of habitual or customary conduct, ethical rather than legal, 
which embraces all those obligations of the citizen which it is “bad 
form” or “not the thing” to disregard. Indeed, regard ; 
obligations is frequently enjoined merely by the social p 
- being “cut” or looked on askance. And yet-the system 1: 
accepted and is held in so high regard, that no one car 
disregard it without in some way suffering at the hands o: 
bors for so doing. If a man maltreats his wife and 
habitually jostles his fellow-citizens in_ the 
flagrantly selfish or in bad taste, he is pi 














dren, or 
does things 
to find himself in a 


™ From Viscount Haldane, ‘“‘ Higher Na 


. International Conciliation, 
November, 1913, No. 72, pp. 4-12. 


106 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


minority and the worse off in the end. But not only does it not pay 
to do these things, but the decent man does not wish to do them. A 
feeling analogous to what arises from the dictates of his more private 
and individual conscience restrains him. He finds himself so 
restrained in the ordinary affairs of daily life. But he is guided 
in his conduct by no mere inward feeling, as in the case of conscience. 
Conscience and, for that matter, law, overlap parts of the sphere of 
social obligation about which Iam speaking. A rule of conduct may, 
indeed, appear in more than one sphere, and may consequently have 
a twofold sanction. But the guide to which the citizen mostly looks 
is just the standard recognized by the community, a community 
made up mainly of those fellow-citizens whose good opinion he 
respects and desires to have. He has everywhere round him an 
object-lesson in the conduct of decent people toward each other and 
toward the community to which they belong. Without such con- 
duct and the restraints which it imposes there could be no tolerable 
social life, and real freedom from interference would not be enjoyed. 
It is the instinctive sense of what to do and what not to do in daily 
life and behavior that is the source of liberty and ease. And it is 
this instinctive sense of obligation that is the chief foundation of 
society. Its reality takes objective shape and displays itself in 
family life and in our other civic and social institutions. It is not 
limited to any one form, and it is capable of manifesting itself in 
new forms and of developing and changing old forms. Indeed, the 
civic community is more than a political fabric. It includes all the 
social institutions in and by which the individual life is influenced— 
such as are the family, the school, the church, the legislature, and 
the executive. None of these can subsist in isolation from the rest; 
together they and other institutions of the kind form a single organic 
whole, the whole which is known as the nation. The spirit and 
habit of life which this organic entirety inspires and compels are 
what, for my present purpose, I mean by Sitilichkeit. 

Sitte is the German for custom, and Sitilichkeit implies custom 
and a habit of mind and action. It also implies a little more. Fichte 
defines it in words which are worth quoting, and which I will put 
into English: ) 

What, to begin with, does Sitte signify, and in what sense do we use 
the word? It means for us, and means in every accurate reference we 


HUMAN NATURE ; 107 


make of it, those principles of conduct which regulate people in their rela- 
tions to each other, and which have become matter of habit and second 
nature at the stage of culture reached, and of which, therefore, we are not 
explicitly conscious. Principles, we call them, because we do not refer to 
the sort of conduct that is casual or is determined on casual grounds, but 
to the hidden and uniform ground of action which we assume to be present 
in the man whose action is not deflected and from which we can pretty 
certainly predict what he will do. Principles, we say, which have become a 
second nature and of which we are not explicitly conscious. We thus 
exclude all impulses and motives based on free individual choice, the inward 
aspect of Sittlichkeit, that is to say, morality, and also the outward side, or 
law, alike. For what a man has first to reflect over and then freely to 
resolve is not for him a habit in conduct; and in so far as habit in conduct 
is associated with a particular age, it is regarded as the unconscious instru- 
ment of the Time Spirit. 


The system of ethical habit in a community is of a dominating 
character, for the decision and influence of the whole community is 
embodied in that social habit. Because such conduct is systematic 
and covers the whole of the field of society, the individual will is 
closely related by it to the will and the spirit of the community. 
And out of this relation arises the power of adequately controlling 
the conduct of.the individual. If this power fails or becomes weak, 
the community degenerates and may fall to pieces. Different 
nations excel in their Sztélichkeit in different fashions. ‘The spirit of 
the community and its ideals may vary greatly. There may be a low 
level of Sztilichkeit; and we have the spectacle of nations which 
have even degenerated in this respect. It may possibly conflict with 
law and morality, as in the case of the Muel. But when its level is 
high in a nation we admire the system, for we see it not only guiding 
a people and binding them together for national effort, but affording 
the greatest freedom of thought and action for those who in daily 
life habitually act in harmony with the General Will. 

Thus we have in the case of a community, be it the city or be it 
the state, an illustration of a sanction which is sufficient to compel 
observance of a rule without any question of the application of force. 
This kind of sanction may be of a highly compelling quality, and it 
often extends so far as to make the individual prefer the good of the 
community to his own. The development of many of our social 
institutions, of our hospitals, of our universities, and of other estab- 


108 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


lishments of the kind, shows the extent to which it reaches and is 
powerful. But it has yet higher forms in which it approaches very 
nearly to the level of the obligation of conscience, although it is dis- 
tinct from that form of obligation. I will try to make clear what I 
mean by illustrations. A man may be impelled to action of a high 
order by his sense of unity with the society to which he belongs, 
action of which, from the civic standpoint, all approve. What he 
does in such a case is natural to him, and is done without thought of 
reward or punishment; but it has reference to standards of conduct 
set up by society and accepted just because society has set them up. 
There is a poem by the late Sir Alfred Lyall which exemplifies the 
high level that may be reached in such conduct. ‘The poem is called 
Theology in Extremis, and it describes the feelings of an Englishman 
who had been taken prisoner by Mahometan rebels in the Indian 
Mutiny. He is face to face with a cruel death. They offer him his 
life if he will repeat something from the Koran. If he complies, no 
one is likely ever to hear of it, and he will be free to return to England 
and to the woman he loves. Moreover, and here is the real point, 
he is not a believer in Christianity, so that it is no question of deny- 
ing his Savior. What ought he to do? Deliverance is easy, and 
the relief and advantage would be unspeakably great, But he does 
not really hesitate, and every shadow of doubt disappears when he 
hears his fellow-prisoner, a half-caste, pattering eagerly the words 
demanded. | 

I will take another example, this time from the literature of 
ancient Greece. In one of the shortest but not least impressive of 
his Dialogues, the ‘‘Crito,”’ Plato tells us of the character of Socrates, 
not as a philosopher, but as a good citizen. He has been unjustly 
condemned by the Athenians as an enemy to the good of the state. 
Crito comes to him in prison to persuade him to escape. He urges 
on him many arguments, his duty to his children included. But 
Socrates refuses. He chooses to follow, not what anyone in the 
crowd might do, but the example which the ideal citizen should set. 
It would be a breach of his duty to fly from the judgment duly passed 
in the Athens to which he belongs, even though he thinks the decree 
should have been different. For it is the decree of the established 
justice of his city state. He will not ‘“‘play truant.” He hears 
the words, ‘“‘Listen, Socrates, to us who have brought you up”; 


HUMAN NATURE TOQ 


and in reply he refuses to go away, in these final sentences: ‘‘This is 
the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my ears, like the sound 
of the flute in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I say, is murmuring 
in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any other. And I know 
that anything more which you may say will be vain.” 

Why do men of this stamp act so, it may be when leading the 
battle line, it may be at critical moments of quite other kinds? It 
is, I think, because they are more than mere individuals. Individual 
they are, but completely real, even as individual, only in their relation 
to organic and social wholes in which they are members, such as the 
family, the city, the state. There is in every truly organized com- 
munity a Common Will which is willed by those who compose that 
community, and who in so willing are more than isolated men and 
women. It is not, indeed, as unrelated atoms that they have lived. 
They have grown, from the receptive days of childhood up to matur- 
ity, in an atmosphere of example and general custom, and their lives 
have widened out from one little world to other and higher worlds, 
so that, through occupying successive stations in life, they more and 
more come to make their own the life of the social whole in which 
they move and have their being. They cannot mark off or define 
their own individualities without reference to the individualities of 
others. And so they unconsciously find themselves as in truth pulse- 
beats of the whole system, and themselves the whole system. It is 
real in them and they in it. They are real only because they are 
social. The notion that the individual is the highest form of reality, 
and that the relationship of individuals is one of mere contract, the 
notion of Hobbes and of Bentham and of Austin, turns out to be 
quite inadequate. Even of an every-day contract, that of marriage, 
it has been well said that it is a contract to pass out of the sphere of 
contract, and that it is possible only because the contracting parties 
are already beyond and above that sphere. As a modern writer, 
F. H. Bradley of Oxford, to whose investigations in these regions we 
owe much, has finely said: ‘The moral organism is not a mere animal 
organism. In the latter the member is not aware of itself as such, 
while in the former it knows itself, and therefore knows the whole 
in itself. ‘The narrow external function of the man is not the whole 
man. He has a life which we cannot see with our eyes, and there is 
no duty so mean that it is not the realization of this, and knowable 


IIo INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


as such. What counts is not the visible outer work sc much as the 
spirit in which it is done. ‘The breadth of my life is not measured 
by the multitude of my pursuits, nor the space I take up amongst 
other men; but by the fulness of the whole life which I know as mine. 
It is true that less now depends on each of us as this or that man; 
it is not true that our individuality is therefore lessened; that there- 
fore we have less in us.”’ 

There is, according to this view, a General Will with which the 
will of the good citizen is in accord. He feels that he would despise 
himself were his private will not in harmony with it. The notion 
ot the reality of such a will is no new one. It is as old as the Greeks, 
for whom the moral order and the city state were closely related; 
and we find it in modern books in which we do not look for it. Jean 
Jacques Rousseau is probably best known to the world by the famous 
words in which he begins the first chapter of the Social Contract: 
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. Those who 
think themselves to be the masters of others cease not to be greater 
slaves than the people they govern.”’ He goes on in the next para- 
graph to tell us that if he were only to consider force and the effects 
of it, he would say that if a nation was constrained to obey and did 
obey, it did well, but that whenever it could throw off its yoke and 
did throw it off, it acted better. His words, written in 1762, became 
a text for the pioneers of the French Revolution. But they would 
have done well to read further into the book. As Rousseau goes on, 
we find a different conception. He passes from considering the fiction 
of a social contract to a discussion of the power over the individual of 
the General Will, by virtue of which a people becomes a people. This 
General Will, the Volonté Générale, he distinguishes from the Volonté 
de Tous, which is a mere numerical sum of individual wills. These. 
* particular wills do not rise above themselves. The General Wit5 on 
the other hand, represents what is greater than the individual volition 
of those who compose the society of which it is the will. On occasions, 
this higher will is more apparent than at other times. But it may, 
if there is social slackness, be difficult to distinguish from a mere 
aggregate of voices, from the will of a mob. What is interesting is 
that Rousseau, so often associated with doctrine of quite another 
kind, should finally recognize the bond of a General Will as what 
really holds the community together. For him, as for those who 


HUMAN NATURE Tit 


have-had a yet clearer grasp of the principle, in willing the General 
Will we not only realize our true selves but we may rise above our 
ordinary habit of mind. We may reach heights which we could not 
reach, or which at all events most of us could not reach, in isolation. 
There are few observers who have not been impressed with the won- 
derful unity and concentration of purpose which an entire nation 
may display—above all, in a period of crisis. We see it in time of 
war, when a nation is fighting for its life or for a great cause. We 
have marvelled at the illustrations with which history abounds of 
the General Will rising to heights of which but few of the individual 
citizens in whom it is embodied have ever before been conscious 
even in their dreams. 

By leadership a common ideal can be made to penetrate the soul 
of a people and to take complete possession of it. The ideal may be 
very high, or it may be of so ordinary a kind that we are not con- 
scious of it without the effort of reflection. But when it is there it 
influences and guides daily conduct. Such idealism passes beyond 
the sphere of law, which provides only what is necessary for mutual 
protection and liberty of just action. It falls short, on the other 
hand, in quality of the dictates of what Kant called the Categorical 
Imperative that rules the private and individual conscience, but 
that alone, an Imperative which therefore gives insufficient guidance 
for ordinary and daily social life. Yet the ideal of which I speak is 
not the less binding; and it is recognized as so binding that the con- 
duct of all good men conforms to it. 


aa PERSONALITY AND THE SOCIAL SELF 


I. The Organism as Personality 







The organism an epresentation, con- 
stitute the real personality, ‘containing in itself all that we have 
been, and the possibility of all that we The complete 
individual character is inscribed there with all its active and passive 
aptitudes, sympathies, and antipathies; its genius, talents, or stu- 
pidity; its virtues, vices, torpor, or activity. Of all these, what 
emerges and actually reaches consciousness is only a small item com- 


tFrom Th. Ribot, The Diseases of Personality, pp. 156-57. Translated from 
the French. (The Open Court Publishing Co., 1891.) 


112 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


pared with what remains buried below, albeit still active. Conscious 
personality is always but a feeble portion of physical personality. 

The unity of the ego, consequently, is not that of the one-entity 
of spiritualists which is dispersed into multiple phenomena, but the 
co-ordination of a certain number of incessantly renascent states, 
having for their support the vague sense of our bodies. This unity 
does not pass from above to below, but from below to above; the 
unity of the ego is not an initial, but a terminal point. 

Does there really exist a perfect unity? Evidently not in the 
strict, mathematical sense. In a relative sense it is met with, rarely 
and incidentally. In a clever marksman in the act of taking aim, or 
in a skilled surgeon performing a difficult operation all is found to 
converge, both physically and mentally. Still, let us take note of 
the result: in these conditions the awareness of real personality dis- 
appears; the conscious individual is reduced to an idea; whence it 
would follow that perfect unity of consciousness and the awareness 
of personality exclude each other. By a different course we again 
reach the same conclusion; the ego is a co-ordination. It oscillates 
between two extreme points at which it ceases to exist: viz., perfect 
unity and absolute inco-ordination. All the intermediate degrees 
are met with, in fact, and without any line of demarcation between 
the healthy and the morbid; the one encroaches upon the other. 

Even in the normal state the co-ordination is often Sufficiently 
loose to allow several series to co-exist separately. We can walk or 
perform manual work with a vague and intermittent consciousness 
of the movements, at the same time singing, musing; but if the activ- 
ity of thought increases, the singing will cease. With many people 
it is a kind of substitute for intellectual activity, an intermediate 
state between thinking and not-thinking. 

The unity of the ego, in a/psychological sense, is, therefore, the 
cohesion, during a given time, of a certain number of clear states of 
consciousness, accompanied by others less clear, and by a multitude 
of physiological states which, without being accompanied by con- 
sciousness like the others, yet operate as much as, and even more 
than, the former. Unity, in fact, means co-ordination, The con- 
clusion to be drawn from the above remarks is namely this, that the 
consensus of consciousness being subordinate to the consensus of the 
organism, the problem of the unity of the ego is, in its ultimate form, 


HUMAN NATURE IT3 


a biological problem. To biology pertains the task of explaining, if 
it can, the genesis of organisms and the solidarity of their component 
parts. Psychological interpretation can only follow in its wake. 


2. Personality as a Complex' 


Ideas, after being experienced in consciousness, become dormant 
(conserved as physiological dispositions) and may or may not after- 
ward be reawakened in consciousness as memories. Many such ideas, 
under conditions with some of which we are all familiar, tend to form 
part of our voluntary or involuntary memories and many do not. But 
when such is the case, the memories do not ordinarily include the 
whole of a given mental experience, but only excerpts or abstracts 
of it. Hence one reason for the fallibility of human icin and 
consequent testimony. 

Now under special conditions,/the ideas making up an experience 
at any given moment tend to become organized into a system or | 
complex, so that when we later think of the experience or recall any - 
of the ideas belonging to it, the complex as a whole is revived. This 
is one of the principles underlying the mechanism of memory. Thus 
it happens that memory may, to a large extent, be made up of com- 
plexes. These complexes may be very loosely organized in. that the 
elementary ideas are weakly bound together, in which case, when 
we try to recall the original experience, only a part of it is recalled. 
Or a complex may be very strongly organized, owing to the conditions 
under which it is formed, and then a large part of the experience can 
be recalled. In this case, any_idea_ associated with some element-in 
the complex may, by the law of association, revive the whole original 
complex. If, for instance, we have gone through a railroad accident 
involving exciting incidents, loss of life, etc., the words “railroad,” 
“accident,” “death,” or a sudden crashing sound, or the sight of 
blood, or even riding in a railroad train may recall the experience 
from beginning to end, or at least the prominent features in it, 1.e., 
so much as was organized. The memory of the greater part of this 
experience is well organized, while the earlier events and those suc- 
ceeding the accident may have passed out of all possibility of volun- 
tary recall. 


* From Morton Prince, ‘‘The Unconscious,” in the Journal of Abnormal Psy- 
chology, III (1908-9), 277-96, 426. 


II4 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


To take an instance commonplace enough but which happens 
to have just come within my observation: A fireman was injured 
severely by being thrown from a hose wagon rushing to a,fire against 
a telegraph pole with which the wagon collided. He narrowly 
escaped death. Although three years have passed he still cannot 
ride on a wagon to a fire without the memory of the whole accident 
rising in his mind. When he does so he again lives through the 
accident, including the thoughts just previous to the actual collision 
when, realizing his situation, he was overcome with terror, and he 
again manifests all the organic physical expressions of fear, viz.: per- 
spiration, tremor, and muscular weakness. Here is a well-organized 
and fairly limited complex. 

Among the loosely organized complexes in many individuals, 
and possibly in all of us, there are certain dispositions toward views 
of life which represent natural inclinations; desires, and modes of 
activity which, for one reason or another, we tend to suppress or 
are unable to give full play to. Many individuals, for example, are 
compelled by the exactions of their duties and responsibilities to 
lead serious lives, to devote themselves to pursuits which demand 
all their energies and thought and which, therefore, do not permit 
of indulgence in the lighter enjoyments of life, and yet there may be 
a natural inclination to partake of the pleasures which innately appeal 
to all mankind and which many pursue. The longing for these 
recurs from time to time. The mind dwells on them, the imagination 
is excited and weaves a fabric of pictures, thoughts, and emotions 
which thus become associated into a complex. There may be a 
rebellion and ‘‘kicking against the pricks” and thereby a liberation 
of the emotional force that impresses a stronger organization on the 
whole process. The recurrence of such a complex is one form of 
what we call a ‘‘mood,” which has a distinctly emotional tone of its 
own. ‘The revival of this feeling tone tends to revive the associated 
ideas and vice versa. Such a feeling-idea complex is often spoken 
of as ‘‘a side to one’s character,” to which a person may from time 
to time give play. Or the converse of this may hold, and a person 
who devotes his life to the lighter enjoyments may have aspirations 
and longings for more serious pursuits, and in this respect the imagi- 
nation may similarly build up a complex which may express itself 
ina mood. ‘Thus a person is often said to have ‘‘many sides to his 


HUMAN NATURE IIs 


character,”’ and exhibits certain alternations of personality which 
may be regarded as normal prototypes of those which occur as 
abnormal states. 

Most of what has been said about the formation of complexes 
is a statement of commonplace facts, and I would not repeat it here 
were it not that, in certain abnormal conditions, disposition, subject, 


and other complexes, though loosely organized, often play an impor- 


tant part. This is not the place to enter into an explanation of 
dissociated personality, but in such conditions we sometimes find that 
disposition complexes, for instance, come to the surface and displace 
or substitute themselves for the other complexes which make up a 
personality. A complex which is only a mood or a “‘side of the 
character” of a normal individual may, in conditions of dissociation, 
become the main, perhaps sole, complex and chief characteristic of 
the new personality. In Miss Beauchamp, for instance, the per- 
sonality known as BI was made up almost entirely of the religious 
and ethical ideas which formed one side of the original self. In the 
personality known as Sally we had for the most part the complex 
which represented the enjoyment of youthful pleasures and sports, 
the freedom from conventionalities and artificial restraints generally 
imposed by duties and responsibilities. In BIV the complex repre- 
sented the ambitions and activities of practical life. In Miss Beau- 
champ as a whole, normal, without disintegration, it was easy to 


recognize all three dispositions as “‘sides of her character,” though | 


each was kept ordinarily within proper bounds by the correcting 
influence of the others. It was only necessary to put her in an 
environment which encouraged one or the other side, to associate 
her with people who strongly suggested one or the other of her own 
characteristics, whether religious, social, pleasure loving, or intel- 
lectual, to see the characteristics of BI, Sally, or BIV stand out in 
relief as the predominant personality. Then we had the alternating 
play of these different sides of her character. 

In fact, the total of our complexes, which, regarded as a whole 
and in view of their reaction to the environment, their behavior under 
the various conditions of social life, their aptitudes, feeling-tones, 
“habits,” and faculties, we term character and personality, are in 
large part predetermined by the mental experiences of the past and 


the vestiges of memory which have been left as residual from these _ 


experiences. We are the offspring of our past. 


116 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The great mass of our ideas involve associations of the origin of 
which we are unaware because the memories of the original experience 
have become split and a large portion thus has become forgotten even 
if ever fully appreciated. We all have our prejudices, our likes and 
dislikes, our tastes and aversions; it would tax our ingenuity to give 
a sufficient psychological account of their origin. They were born 
long ago in educational, social, personal, and other experiences, the 
details of which we have this many a year forgotten. It is the 
‘residua of these experiences that have persisted and become associated 
into complexes which are retained as traits of our personality. 


3. The Self as the Individual’s Conception of His Réle' 


Suggestion may have its end and aim in the creation of a new 
personality. The experimenter then chooses the sort of personality 
he wishes to induce and obliges the subject to realize it. Experiments 
of this kind succeeding in a great many somnambulists, and usually 
producing very curious results, have long been known and have been 
repeated, one might say, almost to satiety within the last few years. 

When we are awake and in full possession of all our faculties we 
can imagine sensations different from those which we ordinarily 
experience. For example, when I am sitting quietly at my table 
engaged in writing this book, I can conceive the sensations that a 
soldier, a woman, an artist, or an Englishman would experience in 
such and such a situation. But, however fantastic the conceptions 
may be that we form; we do not cease to be conscious withal of our 
own personal existence. Imagination has taken flight fairly in space, 
but the memory of ourselves always remains behind. Each of us knows 
that he is himself and not another, that he did this yesterday, that 
he has just written a letter, that he must write another such letter 
tomorrow, that he was out of Paris for a week, etc. It is this memory 
of passed facts—a memory always present to the mind—that consti- 
tutes the consciousness of our normal personality. 

It is entirely different in the case of the two women, A—— and 
B——,, that M. Richet studied. 


Put to sleep and subjected to certain influences, A ard B—— forget 
their identity; their age, their clothing, their sex, their social position, their 
nationality, the place and the time of their life—all this has entirely 





tFrom Alfred Binet, Alterations of Personality, pp. 248-57. (D. Appleton 
& Co., 1896.) 


HUMAN NATURE EL? 


disappeared. Only a single idea remains—a single consciousness—it is the 
consciousness of the idea and of the new being that dawns upon their 
imagination. 

They have lost the idea of their late existence. They live, talk, and 
think exactly like the type that is suggested to them. With what tre- 
mendous intensity of life these types are realized, only those who have been 
present at these experiments can know. Description can only give a weak 
and imperfect idea of it. 

Instead of imagining a character simply, they realize it, objectify it, 
Tt is not like a hallucination, of which one witnesses the images unfolding 
before him, as a spectator would. He is rather like an actor who is seized 
with passion, imagines that the drama he plays is a reality, not a fiction, 
and that he has been transformed, body and soul, into the personality that 
he sets himself to play. 

In order to have this transformation of personality work it is sufficient 
to pronounce a Word with some authority. I say to A , ‘You are an 
old woman,” she considers herself changed into an old woman, and her 
countenance, her bearing, her feelings, become those of an old woman. 
I say to B——, “You are a little girl,’ and she immediately assumes the 
language, games, and tastes of a little girl. . 

Although the account of these scenes is quite dull and colorless com- 
pared with the sight of the astonishing and sudden transformations them- 
selves, I shall attempt, nevertheless, to describe some of them. I quote 
some of M ’s objectivations: 

As a peasant.—She rubs her eyes and stretches herself. ‘‘ What time is 
it? Four o’clock in the morning!’ She walks as if she were dragging 
sabots. ‘Now, then, I must get up. Let us go to the stable. Come up, 
red one! come up, get about!” She seems to be milking a cow. “Let me 
alone, Gros-Jean, let me alone, I tell you. When I am through my work. 
You know well enough that I have not finished my work. Oh! yes, yes, 
" Jater.% : 

As an actress.—Her face took a smiling aspect instead of the dull and 
listless manner which she had just had. “You see my skirt? Well, my 
manager makes me wear it solong. These managers are too tiresome. As 
for me, the shorter the skirt the better I like it. There is always too much 
of it. A simple fig leaf! Mon Dieu, that is enough! You agree with me, 
don’t you, my dear, that it is not necessary to have more than a fig leaf? 
Look then at this great dowdy Lucie—where are her legs, eh ?” 

As a priest.—She imagines that she is the Archbishop of Paris. Her 
face becomes very grave. Her voice is mildly sweet and drawling, which 
forms a great contrast with the harsh, blunt tone she had as a general. 








118 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(Aside.) ‘“‘But I must accomplish my charge.” She leans her head on her 
hand and reflects. (Aloud.) ‘‘Ah! it is you, Monsieur Grand Vicar; what 
is your business with me? I do not wish to be disturbed. Yes, today is 
the first of January, and I must go to the cathedral. This throng of people 
is very respectful, don’t you think so, monsieur? ‘There is a great deal of 
religion in the people, whatever one does. Ah! a child! let him come to 
me to be blessed. There, my child.” She holds out to him her imaginary 
bishop’s ring to kiss. During this whole scene she is making gestures of 
benediction with her right hand on all sides. ‘“‘Now I havea duty to per- 
form. I must go and pay my respects to the president of the Republic. 
Ah! Mr. President, I come to offer you my allegiance. It is the wish of 
the church that you may have many years of life. She knows that she has 
nothing to fear, notwithstanding cruel attacks, while such an honorable 
man is at the head of the Republic.”? She is silent and seems to listen 
attentively. (Aside.) “Yes, fair promises. Now let us pray!’ She 
kneels down. 

As a religious sister.—She immediately kneels down and begins to say 
her prayers, making a great many signs of the cross; then shearises. ‘‘ Now 
to the hospital. There is a wounded man in this ward. Well, my friend, 
you are a little better this morning, aren’t you? Now, then, let me take 
off your bandage.”’ She gestures as if she were unrolling a bandage. “TI 
shall do it very gently; doesn’t that relieve you? There! my poor friend, 
be as courageous before pain as you were before the enemy.” 

I might cite other objectivations from A ’s case, in the character of 
old woman, little girl, young man, gay woman, etc. But the examples 
given seem sufficient to give some idea of the entire transformation of the 
personality into this or that imaginary type. It is not a simple dream, 
it is a living dream. 

The complete transformation of feelings is not the least curious phe- 
nomenon of these objectivations. A is timid, but she becomes very 
daring when she thinks herself a bold person. B—— is silent, she becomes 
talkative when she represents a talkative person. The disposition is thus 
completely changed. Old tastes disappear and give place to the new 
tastes that the new character represented is supposed to have. 








In a more recent paper, prepared with the co-operation of 
M. Ferrari and M. Hericourt, M. Richet has added a curious detail 
to the preceding experiments. He has shown that the subject on 
- whom a change of personality is imposed not only adapts his speech, 
gestures, and attitudes to the new personality, but that even his 
handwriting is modified and brought into relation with the new ideas 


HUMAN NATURE 119 


that absorb his consciousness. This modification of handwriting is 
an especially interesting discovery, since handwriting, according to 
current theories, is nothing more than a sort of imitation. I cite 
some examples borrowed from these authors. 

It is suggested in succession to a young student that he is a sly 
and crafty peasant, then a miser, and finally a very old man. While 
the subject’s features and behavior generally are modified and brought 
into harmony with the idea of the personality suggested, we may 
observe also that his handwriting undergoes similar modifications 
which are not less marked. It has a special character peculiar to 
each of the new states of personality. In short, the graphic move- 
ments change like the gestures generally. 

In a note on the handwriting of hysterical patients, I have shown 
that under the influence of suggested emotions, or under the influence 
of sensorial stimulations, the handwriting of a hysterical patient 
may be modified. It gets larger, for example, in cases of dynamo- 
genic excitation. 

The characteristic of the suggestion that we have just studied 
is that it does not bear exclusively on perception or movement— 
that is to say, on a.limited psychic element; but there are compre- 
hensive suggestions. They impose a topic on the subject that he is 
obliged to develop with all the resources of his intellect and imagi- 
nation, and if the observations be carefully examined, it will also be 
seen that in these suggestions the faculties of perception are affected 
and perverted by the same standard as that of ideation. Thus the 
subject, under the influence of his assumed personality, ceases to 
perceive the external world as it exists. He has hallucinations in 
connection with his new psychological personality. When a bishop, 
he thinks he is in Notre Dame, and sees a host of the faithful. When 
a general, he thinks he is surrounded by troops, etc. Things that 
harmonize with the suggestion are conjured up. This systematic 
development of states of consciousness belongs to all kinds of sug- 
gestions, but is perhaps nowhere else so marked as in these trans- 
formations of personality. 

Qn the other hand, everything that is inconsistent with the 
suggestion gets inhibited and leaves the subject’s consciousness. As 
has been said, alterations of personality imply phenomena of amnesia. 
In order that the subject may assume the fictitious personality he 


120 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


must begin by forgetting his true personality. The infinite number 
of memories that represent his past experience and constitute the 
basis of his normal ego are for the time being effaced, because these 
memories are inconsistent with the ideal of the suggestion. 


4. The Natural Person versus the Social and Conventional Self? 

Somewhat after the order of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde I seem to 
possess two distinct personalities, being both at the same time but 
presenting no such striking contrast as the Jekyll-Hyde combination. 
They are about equally virtuous. Their main difference seems to be 
one of age, one being a decade or so in advance of the other. 

At times they work harmoniously together and again at cross- 
purposes. I do not seem to have developed equally. Part of me 
sits humbly at the feet of the other part of me and receives advice 
and instruction. Part of me feels constrained to confess to the other 
part of me when it has done wrong and meekly receives rebuke. 
Part of me tries to shock the other part of me and to force the more 
dignified part to misbehave and giggle and do things not considered 
correct in polite society. 

My younger part delights to tease the older, to doubt her motives, 
to interrupt her meditations. It wants to play, while my older self 
is more seriously inclined. My younger self is only twelve years old. 
This is my real self. To my own mind I am still a little girl with 
short dresses and a bunch of curls. For some reason my idea of self 
has never advanced beyond this point. The long dress and the hair 
piled high will never seem natural. Sometimes I enjoy this duality 
and again I do not. Sometimes the two parts mingle delightfully 
together, again they wrangle atrociously, while I (there seems to be 
a third part of me) sit off and watch the outcome. 

The older part gets tired before the younger. The younger, still 
fresh and in a good humor, undertakes to furnish amusement for the 
older. I have often thrown myself on the bed wearied and exhausted 
and been made to shake with laughter at the capers of the younger 
part of me. They are capers indeed. On these occasions she will 
carry on conversations with friends—real friends—fairly bristling 
with witticisms, and although taking both parts herself, the parry 
and thrust is delightful. 


* From L. G. Winston, ‘‘ Myself and I,” in the American Journal of Psychology, 
XIX (1908), 562-63. 


HUMAN NATURE r21 


Sometimes, however, the younger part of me seems to get up 
all awry. She will carry on quarrels—heated quarrels—from morn- 
ing to night, taking both sides herself, with persons whom I (the 
combination) dearly love, and against whom I have no grievance 
whatever. These are a great distress to my older self. 

On other days she seems to take the greatest delight in torturing 
me with imaginary horrors. She cuts my throat, pulls my eyes out 
of their sockets, removes tumors, and amputates limbs until I 
wonder that there is anything left of me. She does it all without 
administering anesthetics and seems to enjoy my horror and 
disgust. 

Again, some little jingle or tune will take her fancy and she will 
repeat it to herself until Iam almost driven to madness. Sometimes 
it is only a word, but it seems to have a fascination for her and she 
rolls it as a sweet morsel under her tongue until sleep puts an end to it. 

Again, if I (the combination) fall ill, one part of me, I have never 
discovered which, invariably hints that I am not ill at all but merely 
pretending. So much so that it has become with me a recognized 
symptom of incipient illness. 

Moreover, the younger and older are never on the same side of 
any question. One leans to wisdom, the other to fun. I am a 
house divided against itself. Ths younger longs to dance, to go to 
the theater and to play cards, all of which the older disapproves. 
The younger mocks the older, calls her a hypocrite and the like until 
the older well-nigh believes it herself and almost yields to her plead- 
ings. The older listens sedately to the sermon, while the younger 
plans her Easter suit or makes fun of the preacher. 

The older declares she will never marry, while the younger 
scouts the idea of being an old maid. But even if she could gain the 
consent of the older, it were but little better, they differ so as to 
their ideals. 

In society the difference is more marked. I seem to be a combina- 
tion chaperone and protégée. The older appears at ease, the younger 
shy and awkward—she has never made her début. If one addresses 
a remark to her she is thrown into utter confusion until the older 
rushes to the rescue. My sympathy is with the younger, however, 
for even to this day I, the combination, can scarce resist the tempta- 
- tion to say nothing when there is nothing to say. 


122 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


There is something tragic to me in this Siamese-twins arrange- 
ment of two so uncongenial. JI am at one and the same time pupil 
and teacher, offender and judge, performer and critic, chaperone and 
protégée, a prim, precise, old maid and a rollicking schoolgirl, a tom- 
boy and a prude, a saint and sinner. What can result from such a 
combination? ‘That we get on tolerably is a wonder. Some days, 
however, we get on admirably together, part of me paying compli- 
ments to the other part of me—whole days being given to this— 
until each of us has such a good opinion of herself and the other that 
we feel on equal terms and are at our happiest. 

But how dreadful are the days when we turn against each other! 
There are not words enough to express the contempt which we feel 
for ourselves. We seem to set each other in the corner and the 
combination as a whole is utterly miserable. 

I can but wonder and enjoy and wait to see what Myself and I 
will make of Me. 


5. The Divided Self and Moral Consciousness’ 


Two ways of looking at life are characteristic respectively of 
what we call the healthy-minded, who need to be born only once, 
and of the sick souls, who must be twice-born in order to be happy. 
The result is two different conceptions of the universe of our experi- 
ence. In the religion of the once-born the world is a sort of rectilineal 
or one-storied affair, whose accounts are kept in one denomination, 
whose parts have just the values which naturally they appear to 
have, and of which a simple algebraic sum of pluses and minuses will 
give the total worth. Happiness and religious peace consist in living 
on the plus side of the account. In the religion of the twice-born, 
on the other hand, the world is a double-storied mystery. Peace 
cannot be reached by the simple addition of pluses and elimination 
of minuses from life. Natural good is not simply insufficient in 
amount and transient; there lurks a falsity in its very being. Can- 
celled as it all is by death, if not by earlier enemies, it gives no final 
balance, and can never be the thing intended for our lasting worship. 
It keeps us from our real good, rather; and renunciation and despair 
of it are our first step in the direction of the truth. There are two 


*From William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, pp. 166-73. 
(Longmans, Green & Co., 1902.) 


HUMAN NATURE 123 


lives, the natural and the spiritual, and we must lose the one before 
we can participate in the other. 

In their extreme forms, of pure naturalism and pure salvationism, 
the two types are violently contrasted; though here, as in most 
other current classifications, the radical extremes are somewhat ideal 
abstractions, and the concrete human beings whom we oftenest 
meet are intermediate varieties and mixtures. Practically, however, 
you all recognize the difference: you understand, for example, the 
disdain of the Methodist convert for the mere sky-blue healthy- 
minded moralist; and you likewise enter into the aversion of the 
latter to what seems to him the diseased subjectivism of the Methodist, 
dying to live, as he calls it, and making of paradox and the inversion 
of natural appearances the essence of God’s truth. 

The psychological basis of the twice-born character seems to be a 
certain discordancy or heterogeneity in the native temperament of 
the subject, an incompletely unified moral and intellectual con- 
stitution. 

‘Homo duplex, homo duplex!’ writes Alphonse Daudet. “The 
first time that I perceived that I was two was at the death of my 
brother Henri, when my father cried out so dramatically, ‘He is 
dead, he is dead!’ While my first self wept, my second self thought, 
‘How truly given was that cry, how fine it would be at the theater.’ 
I was then fourteen years old. This horrible duality has often 
given me matter for reflection. Oh, this terrible second me, always 
seated whilst the other is on foot, acting, living, suffering, bestirring 
itself. This second me that I have never been able to intoxicate, to 
make shed tears, or put to sleep. And how it sees into things, and 
how it mocks!” 

Some persons are born with an inner constitution which is har- 
monious and well balanced from the outset. Their impulses are 
consistent with one another, their will follows without trouble the 
guidance of their intellect, their passions are not excessive, and their 
lives are little haunted by regrets. Others are oppositely consti- 
tuted; and are so in degrees which may vary from something so 
slight as to result in a merely odd or whimsical inconsistency, to a 
discordancy of which the consequences may be inconvenient in the 
extreme. Of the more innocent kinds of heterogeneity I find a ie 
example in Mrs. Annie Besant’s autobiography. 


124 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


hd I have ever been the queerest mixture of weakness and strength, and 

‘have paid heavily for the weakness. As a child I used to suffer tortures of 
shyness>and if my shoe-lace was untied would feel shamefacedly that every 
eye was fixed on the unlucky string; as a girl I would shrink away from 
strangers and “think myself unwanted and unliked, so that I was full of 
eager gratitude to anyone who noticed me kindly; as the young mistress 
of a house I was afraid of my servants, and would let careless work pass 
rather than bear the pain of reproving the ill-doer; when I have been 
lecturing and debating with no lack of spirit on the platform, I have pre- 
ferred to go without what I wanted at the hotel rather than to ring and 
make the waiter fetch it. Combative on the platform in defense of any 
cause I cared for, I shrink from quarrel or disapproval in the house, and 
am a coward at heart in private while a good fighter in public. How often 
have I passed unhappy quarters of an hour screwing up my courage to 
find fault with some subordinate whom my duty compelled me to reprove, 
and how often have I jeered at myself for a fraud as the doughty platform 
combatant, when shrinking from blaming some lad or lass for doing their 
work badly. An unkind look or word has availed to make me shrink 
myself as a snail into its shell, while, on the platform, opposition makes me 
speak my best. 


This amount of inconsistency will only count as amiable weakness; 
but a stronger degree of heterogeneity may make havoc of the sub- 
ject’s life. ‘There are persons whose existence is little more than a 
series of zigzags, as now one tendency and now another gets the upper 
hand. Their spirit wars with their flesh, they wish for incompatibles, 
wayward impulses interrupt their most deliberate plans, and their 
lives are one long drama of repentance and of effort to repair mis- 
demeanors and mistakes. 

Whatever the cause of heterogeneous personality may be, we 
find the extreme examples of it in the psychopathic temperament. 
All writers about that temperament make the inner heterogeneity 
prominent in their descriptions. Frequently, indeed, it is only this 
trait that leads us to ascribe that temperament to a man atall. A 
dégénéré supérieur is simply a man of sensibility in many directions, 
who finds more difficulty than is common in keeping his spiritual 
house in order and running his furrow straight, because his feelings 
and impulses are too keen and too discrepant mutually. In the 
haunting and insistent ideas, in the irrational impulses, the morbid 
scruples, dreads, and inhibitions which beset the psychopathic 


HUMAN NATURE 125 


temperament when it is thoroughly pronounced, we have exquisite 
examples of heterogeneous personality. Bunyan had an obsession 
of the words, ‘‘Sell Christ for this, sell him for that, sell him, sell 
him!”? which would run through his mind a hundred times together, 
until one day out of breath with retorting, ‘I will not, I will not,” 
he impulsively said, “Let him go if he will,” and this loss of the 
battle kept him in despair for over a year. ‘The lives of the saints 
are full of such blasphemous obsessions, ascribed invariably to the 
direct agency of Satan. 

St. Augustine’s case is a classic example of discordant personality. 
You all remember his half-pagan, half-Christian bringing up at 
Carthage, his emigration to Rome and Milan, his adoption of Mani- 
cheism and subsequent skepticism, and his restless search for truth 
and purity of life; and finally how, distracted by the struggle between 
the two souls in his breast, and ashamed of his own weakness of will 
when so many others whom he knew and knew of had thrown off 
the shackles of sensuality and dedicated themselves to chastity and 
the higher life, he heard a voice in the garden say, “Sume, lege”’ 
(take and read), and opening the Bible at random, saw the text, 
“not in chambering and wantonness,”’ etc., which seemed directly 
sent to his address, and laid the inner storm to rest forever. Augus- 
tine’s psychological genius has g*ven an account of the trouble of 
having a divided self which has never been surpassed. 


The new will which I began to have was not yet strong enough to 
overcome that other will, strengthened by long indulgence. So these two 
wills, one old, one new, one carnal, the other spiritual, contended with 
each other and disturbed my soul. JI understood by my own experience 
what I had read, “‘Flesh lusteth against spirit, and spirit against flesh.” 
It was myself indeed in both the wills, yet more myself in that which I 
approved in myself than in that which I disapproved in myself. Yet it 
was through myself that habit had obtained so fierce a mastery over me, 
because I had willingly come whither I willed not. Still bound to earth, I 
refused, O God, to fight on thy side, as much afraid to be freed from all 
bonds as I ought to have feared being trammeled by them. 

Thus the thoughts by which I meditated upon thee were like the 
efforts of one who would awake, but being overpowered with sleepiness is 
soon asleep again. Often does a man when heavy sleepiness is on his 
limbs defer to shake it off, and though not approving it, encourage it; 
even so I was sure it was better to surrender to thy love than to yield to 


126 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


my own lusts, yet, though the former course convinced me, the latte 
pleased and held me bound. There was naught in me to answer thy call, 
“Awake, thou sleeper,” but only drawling, drowsy words, “Presently; 
yes, presently; wait alittle while.” But the “presently” had no “present,” 
and the “little while” grew long. For I was afraid thou wouldst hear me 
too soon, and heal me at once of my disease of lust, which I wished to 
satiate rather than to see-extinguished. With what lashes of words did I 
not scourge my own soul. Yet it shrank back; it refused, though it had no 
excuse to offer. I said within myself: ‘‘Come, let it be done now,” and as 
I said it, I was on the point of the resolve. I ali but did it, yet I did not 
do it. And I made another effort, and almost succeeded, yet I did not 
reach it, and did not grasp it, hesitating to die to death, and live to life; 
and the evil to which I was so wonted held me more than the better life I 
had not tried. , 


There could be no more perfect description of the divided will, 
when the higher wishes lack just that last acuteness, that touch of 
explosive intensity, of dynamogenic quality (to use the slang of 
the psychologists), that enables them to burst their shell, and make 
irruption efficaciously into life and queil the lower tendencies forever. 


6. Personality of Individuals and of Peoples' 


In my opinion personality is not merely a unifying and directing 
principle which controls thought and action, but one which, at the 
same time, defines the relation of individuals to their fellows. ‘The 
concept of personality includes, in addition to inner unity and co- 
ordination of the impulses, a definite attitude directed toward the 
outer world which is determined by the manner in which the individual 
organizes his external stimulations. 

In this definition the objective aspect of personality is emphasized 
as over against the subjective. We should not in psychological 
matters be satisfied with subjective definitions. ‘The mental life is 
not only a sum of subjective experiences but mianifests itself invari- 
ably also in a definite series of objective expressions. ‘These objective 
expressions are the contributions which the personality makes to its 
external social environment. More than that, only these objective 
expressions of personality are accessible to external observation 
and they alone have objective value. 


« Translated from W. v. Bechterew (V. M. Bekhterev), Die Persinlichkeit und 
die Bedingungen ihrer Entwicklung und Gesundheit, pp. 3-5. (J. F. Bergmann, 1906.) 


HUMAN NATURE 127 


According to Ribot, the real personality is an organism which 
is represented at its highest in the brain. The brain embraces all 
our past and the possibilities of our future. The individual character 
with all its active and passive peculiarities, with all its antipathies, 
genius, talents, stupidities, virtues, and vices, its inertia and its 
energy is predetermined in the brain. 

Personality, from the objective point of view, is the psychic 
individual with all his original characters, an individual in free asso- 
ciation with his social milieu. Neither innate mental ability, nor 
creative energy, nor what we call will, in and of themselves, consti- 
tutes personality. Nothing less than the totality of psychical 
manifestations, all these including idiosyncrasies which distinguish 
one man from another and determine his positive individuality, may 
be said to characterize, from the objective point of view, the human 
personality. 

The intellectual horizon of persons on different cultural levels 
varies, but no one, for that reason (because of intellectual inferiority), 
loses the right to recognition as a person, provided that he maintains, 
over against his environment, his integrity as an individual and 
remains a Sself-determining person. It is the loss of this self-deter- 
mined individuality alone that renders man completely impersonal. 
When individual spontaneity is feebly manifested, we speak of an 
ill-defined or a “‘passive”’ personality. Personality is, in short, from 
the objective point of view, a self-determining individual with a 
unique nature and a definite status in the social world around him. 

If now, on the basis of the preceding definition, we seek to define 
the significance of personality in social and public life, it appears that 
personality is the basis upon which all social institutions, movements, 
and conditions, in short all the phenomena of social life, rest. The 
people of our time are no more, as in the Golden Age, inarticulate 
masses. They are a totality of more or less active personalities 
connected by common interests, in part by racial origin, and by a 
certain similarity of fundamental psychic traits. A people is a kind 
of collective personality possessing particular ethnic and psycho- 
logica] characteristics, animated by common political aspirations and 
political traditions. The progress of peoples, their civilization, and 
their culture naturally are determined by the advancement of the 
personalities which compose them. Since the emancipation of man- 


128 INTRODUCT_ON TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


kind from a condition of subjection, the life of peoples and of societies 
has rested upon the active participation of each member of society 
in the common welfare which represents the aim of all. The per- 
sonality, considered as a psychic self-determining individual, asserts 
itself the more energetically in the general march of historical events, 
the farther a people is removed from the condition of subjection in 
which the rights of personality are denied. 

In every field of activity, the more advanced personality “‘blazes 
a new trail.” The passive personality, born in subjection, is disposed 
merely to imitate and to repeat. The sheer existence of modern 
states depends less on the crude physical force and its personified 
agencies, than on the moral cohesion of the personalities who consti- 
tute the nation. 

Since the beginning of time, it is only the moral values that have 
endured. Force can support the state only temporarily. When a 
nation disregards the moral forces and seeks its salvation in the rude 
clash of arms, it bears within itself the seeds of its own destruction. 
No army in the world is strong enough to maintain a state, the moral 
basis of which is shaken, for the strength of the army rests upon 
its morale. 

The importance of personality in the historic life of peoples is 
manifest in periods when social conditions accelerate the movement 
of social life. Personality, like every other force, reaches its maxi- 
mum when it encounters resistance, in conflict and in rivalry—when 
it fights—hence its great value in friendly rivalry of nations in industry 
and culture, and especially in periods of natural calamities or of 
enemies from without. Since the fruits of individual development 
contribute to the common fund of social values, it is clear that societies 
and peoples which, other things being equal, possess the most advanced 
and ictive personalities contribute most to the enrichment of civili- 
zation. It does not seem necessary to demonstrate that the pacific 
competition of nations and their success depends on the development 
of the personalities which compose them. A nation weak in the 
development of individualities, of social units which compose it, 
could not defend itself against the exploitation of nations composed 
of personalities with a superior development. 


al 


Jr 
‘i 


es 


HUMAN NATURE 129 


D. BIOLOGICAL AND SOCIAL HEREDITY 
1. Nature and Nurture! 


We have seen that the scientific position in regard to the transmissi- 
bility of modifications should be one of active scepticism, that there 
seems to be no convincing evidence in support of the affirmative 
position, and that there is strong presumption in favor of the negative. 

A modification is a definite change in the individual body, due to 
some change in “nurture.” ‘There is no secure evidence that any 
such individual gain or loss can be transmitted as such, or in any 
representative degree. How does this affect our estimate of the 
value of “nurture”? How should the sceptical or negative answer, 
which we believe to be the scientific one, affect our practice in regard 
to education, physical culture, amelioration of function, improve- 
ment of environment, and so on? Let us give a practical point to 
what we have already said. 

a) Every inheritance requires an appropriate nurture if it is 
to realize itself in development. Nurture supplies the liberating 
stimuli necessary for the full expression of the inheritance. A man’s 
character as well as his physique is a function of “nature” and of 
“nurture.” In the language of the old parable of the talents, what 
is given must be traded with. A boy may be truly enough a chip 
of the old block, but how far he shows himself such depends on 
“nurture.” The conditions of nurture determine whether the 
expression of the inheritance is to be full or partial. It need hardly 
be said that the strength of an (inherited) individuality may be such 
that it expresses itself almost in the face of inappropriate nurture. 
History abounds in instances. As Goethe said, “Man is always 
achieving the impossible.”’ Corot was the son of a successful mil- 
liner and prosperous tradesman, and he was thirty before he left 
the draper’s shop to study nature. 

b) Although modifications do not seem to be transmitted as 
such, or in any representative degree, there is no doubt that they or 
their secondary results may in some cases affect the offspring. ‘This 
is especially the case in typical mammals, where there is before birth 
a prolonged (placental) connection between the mother and the 
unborn young. In such cases the offspring is for a time almost 


*From J. Arthur Thomson, Heredity, pp. 244-49. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 
1908.) 


130 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


part of the maternal body, and liable to be affected by modifications 
thereof, e.g., by good or bad nutritive conditions. In other cases, 
also, it may be that deeply saturating parental modifications, such 
as the results of alcoholic and other poisoning, affect the germ cells, 
and thus the offspring. A disease may saturate the body with 
toxins and waste products, and these may provoke prejudicial 
germinal variations. 

c) Though modifications due to changed ‘‘nurture” do not seem 
to be transmissible, they may be re-impressed on each generation. 
Thus “nurture”? becomes not less, but more, important in our eyes. 

“Ts my grandfather’s environment not my heredity?” asks an 
American author quaintly and pathetically. Well, if not, let us 
secure for ourselves and for our children those factors in the “‘grand- 
father’s environment” that made for progressive evolution, and 
eschew those that tended elsewhere. 

Are modifications due to changed nurture not, as such, entailed 
on offspring? Perhaps it is just as well, for we are novices at nur- 
turing even yet! Moreover, the non-transmissibility cuts both ways: 
if individual modificational gains are not handed on, neither are the 
losses. 

Is the “‘nature’’—the germinal constitution, to wit—all that 
passes from generation to generation, the capital sum without the 
results of individual usury; then we are freed, at least, from undue 
pessimism at the thought of the many harmful functions and environ- 
ments that disfigure our civilization. Many detrimental acquired 
characters are to be seen all around us, but if they are not transmis- 
sible, they need not last. 

In the development of “‘character,” much depends upon early 
nurture, education, and surrounding influences generally, but how 
the individual reacts to these must largely depend on his inheritance. 
Truly the individual himself makes his own character, but he does 
so by his habitual adjustment of his (hereditarily determined) con- 
stitution to surrounding influences. Nurture supplies the stimulus 
for the expression of the moral inheritance, and how far the inheri- 
tance can express itself is limited by the nurture-stimuli available 
just as surely as the result of nurture is conditioned by the hereditarily 
determined nature on which it operates. It may be urged that char- 
acter, being a product of habitual modes of feeling, thinking, and 


d 


HUMAN NATURE 131 


acting, cannot be spoken of as inherited, but bodily character is also 
a product dependent upon vital experience. It seems to us as idle 
to deny that some children are ‘‘born good”’ or “‘born bad,” as it is 
to deny that some children are born strong and others weak, some 
energetic and others ‘‘tired”’ or ‘“‘old.” It may be difficult to tell 
how far the apparently hereditary goodness or badness of disposition 
is due to the nutritive influences of the mother, both before and 
after birth, and we must leave it to the reader’s experience and 
observation to decide whether we are right or wrong in our opinion 
that quite apart from maternal nutritive influence there is a genuine 
inheritance of kindly disposition, strong sympathy, good humor, and 
good will. The further difficulty that the really organic character 
may be half-concealed by nurture-effects, or inhibited by the external 
heritage of custom and tradition, seems less serious, for the selfish- 
ness of an acquired altruism is as familiar as honor among thieves. 

It is entirely useless to boggle over the difficulty that we are 
unable to conceive how dispositions for good or ill lie implicit within 
the pretoplasmic unit in which the individual life begins. The fact 
is undoubted that the initiatives of moral character are in some 
degree transmissible, though from the nature of the case the influences 
of education, example, environment, and the like are here more potent 
than in regard to structural features. We cannot make a silk purse 
out of a sow’s ear, though the plasticity of character under nurture 
is a fact which gives us all hope. Explain it we cannot, but the 
transmission of the raw material of character is a fact, and we must 
still say with Sir Thomas Browne: ‘Bless not thyself that thou 
wert born in Athens; but, among thy multiplied acknowledgments, 
lift up one hand to heaven that thou wert born of honest parents, 
that modesty, humility, and veracity lay in the same egg, and came 
into the world with thee.” 


2. Inheritance of Original Nature’ 


The principles of heredity (may be recapitulated as follows): 

First of all, we find useful the principle of the unit-character. 
According to this principle, characters are, for the most part, inherited 

1 Adapted from C. B. Davenport, “The Inheritance of Physical and Mental 
Traits of Man and Their Application to Eugenics,” in Castle, Coulter, Davenport, 
East, and Tower, Heredity and Eugenics, pp. 269-87. (The University of Chicago 
Press, 1912.) 


132 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


independently of each other, and each trait is inherited as a unit or 
may be broken up into characters that are so inherited. 

Next, it must be recognized that characters, as such, are not 
inherited. Strictly, my son has not my nose, because I still have it; 
what was transmitted was something that determined the shape of 
his nose, and that is called in brief a ‘‘determiner.”? So the second 
principle is that unit-characters are inherited through determiners 
in the germ cells. 

And finally, it is recognized that there really is no inheritance 
from parent to child, but that parent and child resemble each other 
because they are derived from the same germ plasm, they are chips 
from the same old block; and the son is the half-brother to his father, 
by another mother. | 

These three principles are the three corner stones of heredity as 
we know it today, the principles of the independent unit-characters 
each derived from a determiner in the germ plasm. 

How far are the known facts of heredity in man in accord with 
these principles? No doubt all human traits are inherited in accord- 
ance with these principles; but knowledge proceeds slowly in this 
field. 

As a first illustration I may take the case of human eye color. 
The iris is made up of a trestle-work of fibers, in which are suspended 
particles that give the blue color. In addition, in many eyes much 
brown pigment is formed which may be small in amount and gathered 
around the pupil or so extensive as to suffuse the entire iris and make 
it all brown. It is seen, then, that the brown iris is formed by some- 
thing additional to the blue. And brown iris may be spoken of as a 
positive character, depending on a determiner for brown pigment; 
and blue as a negative character, depending on the absence of the 
determiner for brown. 

Now when both parents have brown eyes and come from an 
ancestry with brown eyes, it is probable that all of their germ cells 
contain the determiner for brown iris pigmentation. So when these 
germ cells, both carrying the determiner, unite, all of the progeny will 
receive the determiner from both sides of the house; consequently the 
determiners are double in their bodies and the resulting iris pigmen- 
tation may be said to be duplex. When a character is duplex in an 
individual, that means that when the germ cells ripen in the body 


HUMAN NATURE 133 


of that individual each contains a determiner. So that individual is 
capable, so far as he is concerned, of transmitting his trait in undi- 
minished intensity. | 

If a parent has pure blue eyes, that is evidence that in neither of 
the united germ cells from which he arose was there a determiner for 
iris pigmentation; consequently in respect to brown iris pigmentation 
such a person may be said to be nulliplex. If, now, such a person 
marry an individual duplex in eye color, in whom all of the germ 
cells contain the determiner, each child will receive the determiner 
for iris pigmentation from one side of the house only. This deter- 
miner will, of course, induce pigmentation, but the pigmentation is 
simplex, being induced by one determiner only. Consequently, the 
pigmentation is apt to be weak. When a person whose pigment 
determiners have come from one side of the house forms germ cells, 
half will have and half will lack the determiner. If such a person 
marry a consort all of whose germ cells contain the determiner for 
iris pigmentation, all of the children will, of course, receive the iris 
pigmentation, but in half it will be duplex and in the other half it 
will be simplex. If the two parents both be simplex, so that, in each, 
half of the germ cells possess and half lack the determiner in the 
union of germ cells, there are four events that are equally apt to 
occur: (1’ an egg with the determiner unites with a sperm with the 
determiner; (2) an egg with the determiner unites with a sperm 
without the determiner; (3) an egg without the determiner unites 
with a sperm with the determiner; (4) an egg without the determiner 
unites with a sperm without the determiner. Thus the character is 
duplex in one case, simplex in two cases, and nulliplex in one case; 
that is, one in four will have no brown pigment, or will be blue eyed. 
If one parent be simplex, so that the germ cells are equally with and 
without the determiner, while the other be nulliplex, then half of 
the children will be simplex and half nulliplexin eye pigment. Finally, 
if both parents be nulliplex in eye pigmentation (that is, blue eyed), 
then none of their germ cells will have the determiner, and all children 
will be nulliplex, or blue eyed. ‘The inheritance of eye color serves 
as a paradigm of the method of inheritance of any unit-character. 

Let us now consider some of the physical traits of man that 
follow the same law as brown eye color, traits that are clearly positive, 
and due to a definite determiner in the germ plasm. 


134 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Hair color is due either to a golden-brown pigment that looks 
black in masses, or else to a red pigment. ‘The lighter tints differ 
from the darker by the absence of some pigment granules. If neither 
parent has the capacity of producing a large quantity of pigment 
granules in the hair, the children cannot have that capacity, that is, 
two flaxen-haired parents have only flaxen-haired children. But a 
dark-haired parent may be either simplex or duplex; and so two 
such parents may produce children with light hair; but not more 
than one out of four. In general, the hair color of the children 
tends not to be darker than that of the darker parent. Skin pigment 
follows a similar rule. It is really one of the surprises of modern 
studies that skin pigment should be found to follow the ordinary 
law of heredity; it was commonly thought to blend. The inheritance 
of skin color is not dependent on race; two blonds never have brunette 
offspring, but brunettes may have blondes. ‘The extreme case is that 
of albinos with no pigment in skin, hair, and iris. Two albinos have 
only albino children, but albinos may come from two pigmented 
parents. 

Similarly, straight-haired parents lack curliness, and two such 
have only straight-haired children. Also two tall parents have only 
tall children. Shortness is the trait: tallness is a negative character. 
Also when both parents lack stoutness (are slender), all children tend 
to lack it. 

We may now consider briefly the inheritance of certain patho- 
logical or abnormal states, to see in how far the foregoing principles 
hold for them also. Sometimes the abnormal condition is positive, 
due to a new trait; but sometimes, on the contrary, the normal 
condition is the positive one and the trait is due to a defect. 

Deaf-mutism is due to a defect; but the nature of the defect is 
different in different cases. Deaf-mutism is so varied that fre- 
quently two unrelated deaf mutes may have hearing children. But 
if the deaf-mute parents are cousins, the chances that the deafness is 
due to the same unit defect are increased and all of the children will 
probably be deaf. 

From the studies of Dr. Goddard and others, it appears that when 
both parents are feeble-minded all of the children will be so likewise; 
this conclusion has been tested again and again. But if one of the 
parents be normal and of normal ancestry, all of the children may be 


HUMAN NATURE 135 


normal; whereas, if the normal person have defective germ cells, 
half of his progeny by a feeble-minded woman will be defective. 

Many criminals, especially those who offend against the person, 
are feeble-minded, as is shown by the way they occur in fraternities 
with feeble-mindedness, or have feeble-minded parents. ‘The test 
of the mental condition of relatives is one that may well be applied 
by judges in deciding upon the responsibility of an aggressor. 

Not only the condition of imperfect mental development, but 
also that of inability to withstand stress upon the nervous system, 
may be inherited. From the studies of Dr. Rosanoff and his col- 
laborators, it appears that if both parents be subject to manic depres- 
sive insanity or to dementia precox, all children will be neuropathic 
also; that if one parent be affected and come from a weak strain, 
half of the children are liable to go insane; and that nervous break- 
downs of these types never occur if both parents be of sound stock. 

Finally, a study of families with special abilities reveals a method 
of inheritance quite like that of nervous defect. If both parents be 
color artists or have a high grade of vocal ability or are littérateurs 
of high grade, then all of their children tend to be of high grade also. 
If one parent has high ability, while the other has low ability but has 
ancestry with high ability, part of the children will have high ability 
and part low. It seems like an extraordinary conclusion that high 
ability is inherited as though due to the absence of a determiner in 
the same way as feeble-mindedness and insanity are inherited. We 
are reminded of the poet: ‘‘Great wits to madness sure are near 
allied.”” Evidence for the relationship is given by pedigrees of men 
of genius that often show the combination of ability and insanity. 
May it not be that just that lack of control that permits “flights of 
the imagination” is related to the flightiness characteristic of those 
with mental weakness or defect ? 

These studies of inheritance of mental defect inevitably raise the 
question how to eliminate the mentally defective. This is a matter 
of great importance because, on the one hand, it is now coming to be 
recognized that mental defect is at the bottom of most of our social 
problems. Extreme alcoholism is usually a consequence of a mental 
make-up in which self-control of the appetite for liquor is lacking. 
Pauperism is a consequence of mental defects that make the pauper 


136 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


incapable of holding his own in the world’s competition. Sex immo- 
rality in either sex is commonly due to a certain inability to appreciate 
consequences, to visualize the inevitableness of cause and effect, 
combined sometimes with a sex-hyperesthesia and lack of self-control. 
Criminality in its worst forms is similarly due to a lack of gh 
tion of or receptivity to moral ideas. 

If we seek to know what is the origin of these defects, we must 
admit that it is very ancient. They are probably derived from our 
ape-like ancestors, in which they were normal traits. ‘There occurs 
in man a strain that has not yet acquired those traits of inhibition 
that characterized the more highly developed civilized persons. ‘The 
evidence for this is that, as far back as we go, we still trace back the 
black thread of defective heredity. 

We have now to answer the question as to the eugenical applica- 
tion of the laws of inheritance of defects. First, it may be pointed 
out that traits due to the absence of a determiner are characterized 
by their usual sparseness in the pedigree, especially when the parents 
are normal; by the fact that they frequently appear where cousin 
marriages abound, because cousins tend to carry the same defects 
in their germ plasm, though normal themselves; by the fact that 
two affected parents have exclusively normal children, while two nor- 
mal parents who belong to the same strain, or who both belong to 
strains containing the same defect, have some (about 25 per cent) 
defective children. But a defective married to a pure normal will 
have no defective offspring. 

The clear eugenical rule is then this: Let abnormals marry 
normals without trace of the defect, and let their normal offspring 
marry in turn into strong strains; thus the defect may never appear 
again. Normals from the defective strain may marry normals 
of normal ancestry, but must particularly avoid consanguineous 
marriages. 

The sociological conclusion is: Prevent the feeble-minded, 
drunkards, paupers, sex-offenders, and criminalistic from marrying 
their like or cousins or any person belonging to a neuropathic strain. 
Practically it might be well to segregate such persons during the 
reproductive period for one generation. ‘Then the crop of defectives 
will be reduced to practically nothing. : 


HUMAN NATURE 137 


3. Inheritance of Acquired Nature: Tradition" 


The factor in societal evolution corresponding to heredity in 
organic evolution is tradition; and the agency of transmission is 
the nervous system by way of its various ‘‘senses’’ rather than the 
germ-plasm. ‘The organs of transmission are the eye, ear, tongue, 
etc., and not those of sex. ‘The term tradition, like variation and 
selection, is taken in the broad sense. Variation in nature causes 
the offspring to differ from the parents and from one another; varia- 
tion in the folkways causes those of one period (or place) to differ 
from their predecessors and to some extent among themselves. It is 
the vital fact at the bottom of change. Heredity in nature causes 
the offspring to resemble or repeat the present type; tradition in 
societal evolution causes the mores of one period to repeat those of 
the preceding period. Each is a stringent conservator. Variation 
means diversity; heredity and tradition mean the preservation of 
type. If there were no force of heredity or tradition, there could be 
no system or classification of natural or of societal forms; the creation 
hypothesis would be the only tenable one, for there could be no basis 
for a theory of descent. If there were no variation, all of nature 
and all human institutions would show a monotony as of the desert 
sand. Heredity and tradition allow respectively of the accumulation 
of organic or sucietal variations through repeated selection, extending 
over generations, in this or that direction. In short, what one can 
say of the general effects of heredity in the organic realm he can say 
of tradition in the field of the folkwavs. That the transmission is 
in the one case by way of the sex organs and the germ-plasm, and in 
the other through the action of the vocal cords, the auditory nerves, 
etc., would seem to be of small moment in comparison with the 
essential identity in the functions discharged. 

Tradition is, in a sense and if such a comparison were profitable, 
more conservative than heredity. ‘There is in the content of tradi- 
tion an invariability which could not exist if it were a dual composite, 
as is the constitution of the germ-plasm. Here we must recall 
certain essential qualities of the mores which we have hitherto viewed 
from another angle. ‘Tradition always looks to the folkways as con- 
stituting the matter to be transmitted. But the folkways, after the 


F¥rom Albert G. Keller, Societal Evolution, pp. 212-15. (Published by The 
Macmillan Co., 1915. Reprinted by permission.) 


138 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


concurrence in their practice has been established, come to include a 
judgment that they conduce to societal and, indeed, individual wel- 
fare. This is where they come to be properly called mores. They 
become the prosperity-policy of the group, and the young are reared 
up under their sway, looking to the older as the repositories of pre- 
cedent and convention. But presently the older die, and in con- 
formity with the ideas of the time, they become beings of a higher 
power toward whom the living owe duty, and whose will they do 
not wish to cross. The sanction of ghost-fear is thus extended to 
the mores, which, as the prosperity-policy of the group, have already 
taken on a stereotyped character. They thus become in an even 
higher degree “uniform, universal in a group, imperative, invariable. 
As time goes on, they become more and more arbitrary, positive, and 
imperative. If asked why they act in a certain way in certain cases, 
primitive people always answer that it is because they and their 
ancestors always have done so.’’ Thus the transmission of the mores 
comes to be a process embodying the greatest conservatism and the 
least likelihood of change. This situation represents an adaption of 
society to life-conditions; it would seem that because of the rapidity 
of succession of variations there is need of an intensely conserving 
force (like ethnocentrism or religion) to preserve a certain balance 
and poise in the evolutionary movement. 

Transmission of the mores takes place through the agency of 
imitation or of inculcation; through one or the other according as 
the initiative is taken by the receiving or the giving party respectively. 
Inculcation includes education in its broadest sense; but since that 
term implies in general usage a certain, let us say protective, attitude 
taken by the educator (as toward the young), the broader and more 
colorless designation is chosen. Acculturation is the process by 
which one group or people learns from another, whether the culture 
or civilization be gotten by imitation or by inculcation. As there 
must be contact, acculturation is sometimes ascribed to “‘contagion.”’ 


et 4. Temperament, Tradition, and Nationality’ 


The temperament of the Negro, as I conceive it, consists in a few 

elementary but distinctive characteristics, determined by physical 
% 

t From Robert E. Park, “‘ Education in Its Relation to the Conflict and Fusion 


of Cultures,” in the Publications of the American Sociological Society, XIII (1918), 
58-63. 


HUMAN NATURE 139 


organizations and transmitted biologically. These characteristics 
manifest themselves in a genial, sunny, and social disposition, in an 
interest and attachment to external, physical things rather than to 
subjective states and objects of introspection, in a disposition for 
expression rather than enterprise and action. 

The changes which have taken place in the manifestations of this 
temperament have been actuated by an inherent and natural impulse, 
characteristic of all living beings, to persist and maintain itself in a 
changed environment. Such changes have occurred as are likely to 
take place in any organism in its struggle to live and to use its environ- 
ment to further and complete its own existence. 

The result has been that this racial temperament has selected out 
of the mass of cultural materials to which it had access, such technical, 
mechanical, and intellectual devices as met its needs at a particular 
period of its existence. It has clothed and enriched itself with such 
new customs, habits, and cultural forms as it was able, or permitted 
to use. It has put into these relatively external things, moreover, 
such concrete meanings as its changing experience and its unchanging 
racial individuality demanded. Everywhere and always it has been 
interested rather in expression than in action; interested in life itself 
rather than in its reconstruction or reformation. The Negro is, by 
natural disposition, neither an intellectual nor an idealist, like the 
Jew; nor a brooding introspective, like the East Indian; nor a 
pioneer and frontiersman, like the Anglo-Saxon. He is primarily 
an artist, loving life for its own sake. His metzer is expression rather 
than action. He is, so to speak, the lady among the races. 

In reviewing the fortunes of the Negro’s temperament as it is 
manifested in the external events of the Negro’s life in America, our 
analysis suggests that this racial character of the Negro has exhibited 
itself everywhere in something like the réle of the wish in the Freudian 
analysis of dream-life. The external cultural forms which he found 
here, like the memories of the individual, have furnished the materials 
in which the racial wish, i.e., the Negro temperament, has clothed 
itself. The inner meaning, the sentiment, the emphasis, the emo- 
tional color, which these forms assumed as the result of their trans- 
ference from the white man to the Negro, these have been the Negro’s 
own. They have represented his temperament—his temperament 
modified, however, by his experience and the tradition which he has 


140 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


accumulated in this country. The temperament is African, but the 
tradition is American. 

If it is true that the Jew just because of his intellectuality is a 
natural-born idealist, internationalist, doctrinaire, and revolutionist, 
while the Negro, because of his natural attachment to known familiar 
objects, places, and persons, is pre-adapted to conservatism and to 
local and personal loyalties—if these things are true, we shall even- 
tually have to take account of them practically. It is certain that 
the Negro has uniformly shown a disposition to loyalty during slavery 
to his master and during freedom to the South and the country as a 
whole. He has maintained this attitude of loyalty, too, under very 
discouraging circumstances. I once heard Kelly Miller, the most 
philosophical of the leaders and teachers of his race, say in a public 
speech that one of the greatest hardships the Negro suffered in this 
country was due to the fact that he was not permitted to be patriotic. 

Of course all these alleged racial characteristics have a positive as 
well as a negative significance. Every race, like every individual, 
has the vices of its virtues. The question remains still to what 
extent so-called racial characteristics are actually racial, i.e., biological, 
and to what extent they are the effect of environmental conditions. 
The thesis of this paper, to state it again, is: (1) that fundamental 
temperamental qualities, which are the basis of interest and attention, 
act as selective agencies and as such determine what elements in the 
cultural environment each race will select; in what region it will 
seek and find its vocation in the larger social organization; (2) that, 
on the other hand, technique, science, machinery, tools, habits, 
discipline, and all the intellectual and mechanical devices with which 
the civilized man lives and works remain relatively external to the 
inner core of significant attitudes and values which constitute what 
we may call the will of the group. This racial will is, to be sure, 
largely social, that is, modified by social experience, but it rests 
ultimately upon a complex of inherited characteristics, which are 
racial. 

The individual man is the bearer of a double inheritance. As 
a member of a race, he transmits by interbreeding a biological 
inheritance. As a member of society or a social group, on the other 
hand, he transmits by communication a social inheritance. The 
particular complex of inheritable characters which characterizes the 


HUMAN NATURE I41 


individuals of a racial group constitutes the racial temperament. 
The particular group of habits, accommodations, sentiments, atti- 
tudes, and ideals transmitted by communication and education 
constitutes a social tradition. Between this temperament and this 
tradition there is, as has been generally recognized, a very intimate 
relationship. My assumption is that temperament is the basis of 
the interests; that as such it determines in the long run the general 
run of attention, and this, eventually, determines the selection in the 
case of an individual of his vocation, in the case of the racial group 
of its culture. That is to say, temperament determines what things 
the individual and the group will be interested in; what elements of 
the general culture, to which they have access, they will assimilate; 
what, to state it pedagogically, they will learn. 

It will be evident at once that where individuals of the same race 
and hence the same temperament are associated, the temperamental 
interests will tend to reinforce one another, and the attention of 
members of the group will be more completely focused upon the 
specific objects and values that correspond to the racial temperament. 
In this way racial qualities become the basis for nationalities, a 
nationalistic group being merely a cultural and, eventually, a political 
society founded on the basis of racial inheritances. 

On the other hand, when racial segregation is broken up and 
membets of a racial group are dispersed, the opposite effect will take 
place. This explains the phenomena which have frequently been the 
subject of comment and observation, that the racial characteristics 
manifest themselves in an extraordinary way in large homogeneous 
gatherings. The contrast between a mass meeting of one race and 
a similar meeting of another is particularly striking. Under such cir- 
cumstances characteristic racial and temperamental differences 
appear that would otherwise pass entirely unnoticed. 

When the physical unity of a group is perpetuated by the suc- 
cession of parents and children, the racial temperament, including 
fundamentai attitudes and values which rest in it, is preserved intact. 
When, however, society grows and is perpetuated by immigration 
and adaptation, there ensues, as a result of miscegenation, a breaking 
up of the complex of the biologically inherited qualities which consti- 
tute the temperament of the race. This again initiates changes in 
the mores, traditions, and eventually in the institutions of the com- 


142 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


munity. The changes which proceed from modification in the racial 
temperament will, however, modify but slightly the external forms of 
the social traditions, but they will be likely to change profoundly 
their content and meaning. Of course other factors, individual 
competition, the formation of classes, and especially the increase of 
communication, all co-operate to complicate the whole situation and 
to modify the effects which would be produced by racial factors 
working in isolation. 


III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


1. Conceptions of Human Nature Implicit in Religious and 
Political Doctrines 


Although the systematic study of it is recent, there has always 
been a certain amount of observation and a great deal of assumption 
in regard to human nature. ‘The earliest systematic treatises in 
jurisprudence, history, theology, and politics necessarily proceeded 
from certain more or less naive assumptions in regard to the nature 
of man. In the extension of Roman law over subject peoples the 
distinction was made between jus gentium and jus naturae, i.e., the 
laws peculiar to a particular nation as contrasted with customs and 
laws common to all nations and derived from the nature of mankind. 
Macaulay writes of the “principles of human nature” from which it 
is possible to deduce a theory of government. ‘Theologians, in devis- 
ing a logical system of thought concerning the ways of God to man, 
proceeded on the basis of certain notions of human nature. The 
doctrines of original sin, the innate depravity of man, the war of 
the natural man and the spiritual man had a setting in the dogmas of 
the fall of man, redemption through faith, and the probationary 
character of life on earth. In striking contrast with the pessimistic 
attitude of theologians toward human nature, social revolutionists 
like Rousseau have condemned social institutions as. inherently 
vicious and optimistically placed reliance upon human nature as 
innately good. 

In all these treatises the assumptions about human nature are 
either preconceptions or rationalizations from experience incidental 
to the legal, moral, religious, or political system of thought. ‘There 
is in these treatises consequently little or no analysis or detailed 
description of the traits attributed to men. Certainly, there is no 


HUMAN NATURE 143 


evidence of an effort to arrive at an understanding of human behavior 
from an objective study of its nature. 

Historic assumptions in regard to human nature, no matter how 
fantastic or unscientific, have exerted, nevertheless, a far-reaching 
influence upon group action. Periods of social revolution are ushered 
in by theorists who perceive only the evil in institutions and the 
good in human nature. On the other hand, the ‘guardians of 
society,” distrustful of the impulses of human nature, place their 
reliance upon conventions and upon existing forms of social organi- 
zation. Communistic societies have been organized upon certain 
ideas of human nature and have survived as long as these beliefs 
which inspired them controlled the behavior of members of the group. 

Philosophers from the time of Socrates have invariably sought 
to justify their moral and political theories upon a conception, if not 
a definition, of the nature of man. Aristotle, in his Politics and 
Hobbes in his Leviathan, to refer to two classics, offer widely divergent 
interpretations of human nature. . Aristotle emphasized man’s altru- 
istic traits, Hobbes stressed his egoistic disposition. ‘These opposite 
conceptions of human behavior are explicit and in each case presented 
with a display of evidence. Yet students soon realize that neither 
philosopher, in fashioning his conception, is entirely without animus 
or ulterior motive. When these definitions are considered in the 
context in which they occur, they seem less an outgrowth of an 
analysis of human nature, than formulas devised in the interest of a 
political theory. Aristotle was describing the ideal state; Hobbes 
was interested in the security of an existing social order. 

Still, the contribution made by social and political philosophers 
has been real. Their descriptions of human behavior, if inadequate 
and unscientific, at least recognized that an understanding of human 
nature was a precondition to social reorganization. The fact that 
philosophical conceptions and ideal constructions are themselves 
social forces and as such frequently represent vested interests, has 
been an obstacle to social.as well as physical science. | 

Comte’s notion that every scientific discipline must pass through 
a theological and metaphysical stage before it assumed the character 
of a positive science seems to be true as far as sociology is concerned. 
Machiavelli shocked the moral sense of his time, if not the moralists 
of ali time, when he proposed to accept human nature as it is as a 


144 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


basis for political science. Herbert Spencer insisted upon the futility 
of expecting ‘‘golden conduct from leaden instincts.”’ To the utopian 
social reformers of his day he pointed out a series of welfare measures 
in England in which the outcome was the direct opposite of the 
results desired. 3 

This negative criticism of preconceived notions and speculations 
about human nature prepared the way for disinterested observation 
and comparison. Certain modern tendencies and movements gave 
an impetus to the detached study of human behavior. The ethnolo- 
gists collected objective descriptions of the behavior of primitive 
people. In psychology interest developed in the study of the child 
and in the comparative study of human and animal behavior. The 
psychiatrist, in dealing with certain types of abnormal behavior like 
hysteria and multiple personality, was forced to study human behavior 
objectively. All this has prepared the way for a science of human 
nature and of society based upon objective and disinterested obser- 
vation. | 

2. Literature and the Science of Human Nature 


The poets were the first to recognize that ‘‘the proper study of 
mankind is man”’ as they were also the first to interpret it objectively. 
The description and appreciation of human nature and personality 
by the poet and artist preceded systematic and reflective analysis by 
the psychologist and the sociologist. In recent years, moreover, 
there has been a very conscious effort to make literature, as well as 
history, ‘‘scientific.”” Georg Brandes in his Main Currents in Nine- 
teenth Century Literature set himself the task to “trace first and 
foremost the connection between literature and life.” Taine’s 
History of English Literature attempts to delineate British tempera- 
ment and character as mirrored in literary masterpieces. 

The novel which emphasizes ‘“‘miliew”’ and ‘character,’ as con- 
trasted with the novel which emphasizes ‘‘action” and “plot,” is a 
literary device for the analysis of human nature and society. Emile 
Zola in an essay The Experimental Novel has presented with charac- 
teristic audacity the case for works of fiction as instruments for the 
scientific dissection and explanation of human behavior. _ | 

The novelist is equally an observer and an experimentalist. The 
observer in him gives the facts as he has observed them, suggests the points 
of departure, displays the solid earth on which his characters are to tread 


HUMAN NATURE 145 


and the phenomena develop. Then the experimentalist appears and 
introduces an experiment, that is to say, sets his characters going in a certain 
story so as to show that the succession of facts will be such as the require- 
ments of the determinism of the phenomena under examination call for. 
The novelist starts out in search of a truth. I will take as an example the 
character of the “Baron Hulot,” in Cousine Bette, by Balzac. The general 
fact observed by Balzac is the ravages that the amorous temperament of a 
man makes in his home, in his family, and in society. As soon as he has 
chosen his subject he starts from known facts, then he makes his experiment 
and exposes Hulot to a series of trials, placing him among certain surround- 
ings in order to exhibit how the complicated machinery of his passions 
works. It is then evident that there is not only observation there, but 
that there is also experiment, as Balzac does not remain satisfied with 
photographing the facts collected by him, but interferes in a direct way to 
place his characters in certain conditions, and of these he remains the 
master. The problem is to know what such a passion, acting in such 
‘surroundings and under such circumstances, would produce from the point 
of view of an individual and of society; and an experimental novel, Cousine 
Bette, for example, is simply the report of the experiment that the novelist 
conducts before the eyes of the public. In fact, the whole operation con- 
sists of taking facts in nature, then in studying the mechanism of these 
facts, acting upon them, by the modification of circumstances and sur- 
roundings, without deviating from the laws of nature. Finally, you possess 
knowledge of the man, scientific knowledge of him, in both his individual 
and social! relations. 


After all that may be said for the experimental novel, however, 
its primary aim, like that of history, is appreciation and understand- 
ing, not generalization and abstract formulas. Insight and sympathy, 
the mystical sense of human solidarity, expressed in the saying ‘‘to 
comprehend all is to forgive all,”’ this fiction has to give. And these 
are materials which the sociologist cannot neglect. As yet there is 
no autobiography or biography of an egaecentric personality so con- 
vincing as George Meredith’s The Egoist. The miser is a social type; 
but there are no case studies as sympathetic and discerning as George 
Eliot’s Silas Marner. Nowhere in social science has the technique 
of case study developed farther than in criminology; yet Dostoév- 
'sky’s delineation of the self-analysis of the murderer in Crime and 
Punishment dwarfs all comparison outside of similar studies in fiction. 


tEmile Zola, The Experimental Novel (New York, 1893), pp. 8-9. Translated 
from the French by Belle M. Sherman. 


146 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The function of the so-called psychological or sociological novel stops, 
however, with its presentation of the individual incident or case; it 
is satisfied by the test of its appeal to the experience of the reader. 
The scientific study of human nature proceeds a step farther; it seeks 
generalizations. From the case studies of history and of literature 
it abstracts the laws and principles of human behavior. 


3. Research in the Field of Original Nature 


Valuable materials for the study of human nature have been 
accumulated in archaeology, ethnology, and folklore. William G. 
Sumner, in his book Folkways, worked through the ethnological data 
and made it available for sociological use. By classification and 
comparison of the customs of primitive peoples he showed that 
cultural differences were based on variations in folkways and mores 
in adaptation to the environment, rather than upon fundamental 
' differences in human nature. 

The interests of research have resulted in a division of labor 
between the fields of original and acquired nature in man. The 
examination of original tendencies has been quite properly connected 
with the study of inheritance. For the history of research in this 
field, the student is referred to treatises upon genetics and evolution 
and to the works of Lamarck, Darwin, DeVries, Weismann, and 
Mendel. Recent discoveries in regard to the mechanism of biological] 
inheritance have led to the organization of a new applied science, 
“eugenics.”” The new science proposes a social program for the 
improvement of the racial traits based upon the investigations of 
breeding and physical inheritance. Research in eugenics has been 
fostered by the Galton Laboratory in England, and by the Eugenics 
Record Office at Cold Spring Harbor in the United States. Interest 
has centered in the study of the inheritance of feeble-mindedness. 
Studies of feeble-minded families and groups, as The Kallikak Family 
by Goddard, The Jukes by Dugdale, and The Tribe of Ishmael by 
M’Culloch, have shown how mental defect enters as a factor into 
industrial inefficiency, poverty, prostitution, and crime. 


4 The Investigation of Human Personality 
The trend of research in human nature has been toward the study 
of personality. Scientific inquiry into the problems of personality 
was stimulated by the observation of abnormal behavior such as 


HUMAN NATURE 147 


hysteria, loss of memory, etc., where the cause was not organic and, 
therefore, presumably psychic. A school of French psychiatrists 
and psychologists represented by Charcot, Janet, and Ribot have 
made signal contributions to an understanding of the maladies of 
personality. Investigation in this field, invaluable for an under- 
standing of the person, has been made in the study of dual and 
multiple personality. The work of Freud, Jung, Adler, and others 
in psychoanalysis has thrown light upon the réle of mental conflict, 
repression, and the wishes in the growth of personality. 

In sociology, personality is studied, not only from the subjective 
standpoint of its organization, but even more in its objective aspects 
and with reference to the réle of the person in the group. One of the 
earliest classifications of “kinds of conduct” has been ascribed by 
tradition to a disciple of Aristotle, Theophrastus, who styled himself 
“a student of human nature.’ The Characters of Theophrastus is 
composed of sketches—humorous and acute, if superficial—of types 
such as ‘‘the flatterer,” ‘‘the boor,” ‘‘the coward,” ‘‘the garrulous 
man.’ ‘They are as true to modern life as to the age of Alexander. 
Chief among the modern imitators of Theophrastus is La Bruyére, 
who published in 1688 Les caractéres, ou les meurs de ce siécle, a series 
of essays on the manners of his time, illustrated by portraits of his 
contemporaries. 

Autobiography and biography provide source material for the 
study both of the subjective life and of the social réle of the person. 
Three great autobiographies which have inspired the writing of 
personal narratives are themselves representative of the different 
types: Caesar’s Commentaries, with his detached impersonal descrip- 
tion of his great exploits; the Confessions of St. Augustine, with his 
intimate self-analysis and intense self-reproach, and the less well- 
known De Vita Propria Liber by Cardan. This latter is a serious 
attempt at scientific self-examination. Recently, attention has been 
directed to the accumulation of autobiographical and biographical 
materials which are interpreted from the point of view of psychiatry 
and psychoanalysis. The study Der Fall Otto Weininger by Dr. Fer- 
dinand Probst is a representative monograph of this type. The 
outstanding example of this method and its use for sociological inter- 
pretation is ‘‘Life Record of an Immigrant” contained in the third 
volume of Thomas and Znaniecki, Te Polish Peasant. In connection 


148 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


with the Recreation Survey of the Cleveland Foundation and the 
Americanization Studies of the Carnegie Corporation, the life-history 
has been developed as part of the technique of investigation. 


5. The Measurement of Individual Differences 


With the growing sense of the importance of individual differences 
in human nature, attempts at their measurement have been essayed. 
Tests for physical and mental traits have now reached a stage of 
accuracy and precision. The study of temperamental and social 
characteristics is still in the preliminary stage. 

The field of the measurement of physical traits is dignified by 
the name “anthropometry.” In the nineteenth century high hopes 
were widely held of the significance of measurements of the cranium 
and of physiognomy for an understanding of the mental and moral 
nature of the person. ‘The lead into phrenology sponsored by Gall 
and Spursheim proved to be a blind trail. The so-called “scientific 
school of criminology” founded by Cesare Lombroso upon the iden- 
tification of the criminal type by certain abnormalities of physiog- 
nomy and physique was undermined by the controlled study made by 
Charles Goring. At the present time the consensus of expert opinion 
is that only for a small group may gross abnormalities of physical 
development be associated with abnormal mental and emotional 
reactions. | 

In 1905-11 Binet and Simon devised a series of tests for deter- 
mining the mental age of French school children. The purpose of 
the mental measurements was to gauge innate mental capacity. 
Therefore the tests excluded material which had to do with special 
social experience. With their introduction into the United States 
certain revisions and modifications, such as the Goddard Revision, the 
Terman Revision, the Yerkes-Bridges Point Scale, were made in the 
interests of standardization. The application of mental measure- 
ments to different races and social classes raised the question of the 
extent to which individual groups varied because of differences in 
social experience. While it is not possible absolutely to separate 
original tendencies from their expression in experience, it is practicable 
to devise tests which will take account of divergent social environments. 

The study of volitional traits and of temperament is still in its 
infancy. Many recent attempts at classification of temperaments 


HUMAN NATURE 149 


rest upon as impressionistic a basis as the popular fourfold division 
into sanguine, melancholic, choleric, and phlegmatic. Two of the 
efforts to define temperamental differences rest, however, upon first- 
hand study of cases. Dr. June E. Downey has devised a series of 
tests based upon handwriting material for measuring will traits. In 
her pamphlet The Will Profile she presents an analysis of twelve 
volitional traits: revision, perseverance, co-ordination of impulses, 
care for detail, motor inhibition, resistance, assurance, motor impul- 
sion, speed of decision, flexibility, freedom from inertia, and speed 
of movement. From a study of several hundred cases she defined 
certain will patterns which apparently characterize types of indi- 
viduals. In her experience she has found the rating of the subject 
by the will test to have a distinct value in supplementing the test 
for mentality. 

Kraepelin, on the basis of his examination of abnormal mental 
states, offers a classification of types of psychopathic personalities. 
He distinguishes six groups: the excitable, the unstable, the psycho- 
pathic trend, the eccentric, the anti-social, and the contentious. In 
psychoanalysis a simpler twofold division is frequently made between 
the introveris, or the “‘introspective”’ and the exéroverts, or the “‘ objec- 
tive”’ types of individual. 

The study of social types is as yet an unworked field. Literature 
and life surround us with increasing specializations in personalities, 
but attempts at classification are still in the impressionistic stage. 
The division suggested by Thomas into the Philistine, Bohemian, and 
Creative types, while suggestive, is obviously too simple for an ade- 
quate description of the rich and complex variety of personalities. 

This survey indicates the present status of attempts to define 
and measure differences in original and human nature. A knowledge 
of individual differences is important in every field of social control. 
It is significant that these tests have been devised to meet problems 
of policies and of administration in medicine, in industry, in educa- 
tion, and in penal and reformatory institutions. Job analysis, 
personnel administration, ungraded rooms, classes for exceptional 
children, vocational guidance, indicate fields made possible by the 
development of tests for measuring individual differences. 


I50 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. ORIGINAL NATURE 
A. Racial Inheritance 
(1) Thomson, J. Arthur. Heredity. London and New York, 1908. 
(2) Washburn, Margaret F. The Animal Mind. New York, 1908. 
(3) Morgan, C. Lloyd. Habit and Instinct. London and New York, 
1896. 





(4) Instinct and Experience. New York, 1912. 
(5) Loeb, Jacques. Comparative Physiology of the Brain and Com- 
parative Psychology. New York, 1Qo00. 
(5) Forced Movements. Philadelphia and London, 1918. 
(7) Jennings, H. S. Behavior of the Lower Organisms. New York, 
1906. 
(8) Waris. John. Behavior: an Introduction to Comparative Psy- 
chology. New York, tor4. 
(9) Thorndike, E.L. The Original Nature of Man. Vol. 1 of ‘‘Educa- 
tional Psychology.” New York, 1913. 
(10) Paton, Stewart. Human Behavior. In relation to the study of 
educational, social, and ethical problems. New York, 1921. 
(11) Faris, Ellsworth, ‘Are Instincts Data or Hypotheses: 2” American 
Journal of Sociology, XX VII (Sept., 1921), 184-096. 


B. Heredity and Eugenics 


1. Systematic Treatises: 


{r) Castle, W. E., Coulter, J. M., Davenport, C. B., East, E.. M., 
and Tower, W. L. Heredity and Eugenics. Chicago, 1912. 

(2) Davenport, C. B. Heredity in Relation to Eugenics. New York, 
IQII. 

(3) Coaaned. Henry H. Feeble-mindedness. New York, 1014. 


2. Inherited Inferiority of Families and Communities: 


(1) Dugdale, Richard L.. The Jukes. New York, 1877. 

(2) M’Culloch, O. C. The Tribe of Ishmael. A study in social 
degradation. National Conference of Charities and Correction, 
1888, 154-59; 1889, 265; 1890, 435-37. 

(3) Goddard, Henry H. The Kallikak Family. New York, 10912. 

(4) Winship, A. E. Jukes-Edwards. A study in education and 
heredity. Harrisburg, Pa., rgoo. 

(5) Estabrook, A. H., and Davenport, C. B. The Nam Family. 
A study in cacogenics. Cold Spring Harbor, N.Y., 1912. 

(6) Danielson, F. H.,and Davenport, C.B. The Hill Folk. Report 
on a rural community of hereditary defectives. Cold Spring 
Harbor, N.Y., 1912. 

(7) Kite, Elizabeth S. “The Pineys,”’ Survey, XX XI (October 4, 
1913), 7-13, 38-40 

(8) Gesell, A. ie The Village of a Thousand Souls,” American 
Magazine, LXXVI (October, 1913), 11-13. 

(9) Kostir, Mary S. The Family of Sam Sixty. Columbus, 1016. 

(10) oi inlayson, Anna W. The Dack Family. A study on hereditary 
lack of emotional control. Cold Spring Harbor, N.Y., 1916. 





HUMAN NATURE I51 


Il. HUMAN NATURE 
A. Human Traits 


(1) Cooley, Charles H. Human Nature and the Social Order. New 
York, 1902. 

(2) Shaler, N.S. The Individual. New York, tgoo. ‘ 

(3) Hocking, W. E. Human Nature and Its Remaking. New Haven, 
1o18. 

(4) James, William, Selected Papers on Philosophy. New York, 1917. 
{Includes essays on “Energies of Men,” “Habit,” “‘The Will,” 
“The Will to Believe.’’] 

(5s) Dewey, John. Human Nature and Conduct. An introduction to 
social psychology. New York, 1922. 

(6) Edman, Irwin. Auman Traits and Their Social Significance. 
Boston, 1919. 

(7) Wallas, Graham. Human Nature in Politics. London, 1908. 

(8) Baillie, J. B. Studies in Human Nature. London, rg2t. 

(9) Lippmann, Walter. A Preface to Politics. New York and London, 
1913. [A criticism of present politics from the point of view of 
human-nature studies. | 

(10) James, William. The Varieties of Religious Experience. A study 
in human nature. London and New York, 1902. 

(11) Ellis, Havelock. Studies in the Psychology of Sex. 6 vols. Phila- 
delphia, 1900-1905. " 

(12) Thomas, W. [. Source Book for Social Origins. Chicago, tgoog. 
{Contains extensive bibliographies.] 
[See bibliographies, ‘“‘Intimate Social Contacts and the Sociology 
of the Senses,”’ p. 332, and ‘Psychology and Sociology of War,” 
p- 650.| 

B. The Mores 
1. Comparative Studies of Cultural Traits: 


(1) Tylor, E. B. Primitive Culture. Researches into the develop- 
ment of mythology, philosophy, religion, language, art, and 
custom. 4thed. 2 vols. London, rgo3. 

(2) Sumner, W. G. Folkways. A study of the sociological impor- 
tance of usages, manners, customs, mores, and morals. Boston, 
1906. . 

(3) Westermarck, E. A. The Origin and Development of the Moral 
Ideas. London and New York, 1908. 

(4) Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien. Primitive Mentality. New York, 1923. 

(5) Ratzel, F. History of Mankind. Translated by A. J. Butler. 
London and New York, 1808. 

(6) Vierkandt, A. Naturvilker und Kulturvélker. Leipzig, 1896. 

(7) Lippert, Julius. Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit wm threm 
organischem Aufbau. Stuttgart, 1886-87. 

(8) Frazer, J. G. The Golden Bough. A study in magic and 
religion. 3ded.,12 vols. (Volume XII is a bibliography of the 
preceding volumes.) London and New York, 1907-15. 

(9) Goldenweiser, A. A. Early Civilization. An introduction to 
anthropology. New York, 1922. 


152 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(10) Dewey, John, and Tufts, James H. Ethics. New York, 1908. 

(11) Thorndike, Lynn. A History of Magic and Experimental 
Science. During the first thirteen centuries of our era. New 
York, 1923. 


2. Studies of Traits of Individual Peoples: 


(1) Fouillée, A. Psychologie du peuple francais. Paris, 1808. 

(2) Demolins, Edmond. Anglo-Saxon Superiority. To what it is 
due. Translated from the French by L. B. Lavigne. 2d 
English ed. London, 1808. 

(3) Rhys, J., and Brynmor-Jones, D. The Welsh People. London, 
1900. 

(4) Peibere. M. The Jews. A study of race and environment, 
London and New York, ro1t. 

(5) Zollschan, Ignaz. Das Rassenproblem. Unter besonderer 
Beriicksiclitigung der theoretischen Grundlagen der jiidischen 
Rassenfrage. 3ded. Wien, 1912. 

(6) Odum, Howard W. Social and Mental Traits of the Negro. 
Research into the conditions of the Negro race in southern 
towns. A study in race traits, tendencies, and prospects. 
New York, 1910. 

(7) Burton, Richard F. The Jew, the Gypsy and El Islam. “The 
Gypsy,” pp. 136-285. London, 1808. 

(8) Strausz, A. Die Bulgaren. Ethnographische Studien. Leip- 
zig, 1898. 

(9) Stern, B. Geschichte der dffentlichen Sittlichkeit in Russland. 
Kultur, Aberglaube, Sitten, und Gebraéuche. Zwei Bande. 
Berlin, 1907-8. 

(10) Krauss, F. S. Sztte und Brauch der Siidslaven. Wien, 1885. 

(11) Kidd, D. The Essential Kafir. London, 1904. 

(12) Spencer, B., and Gillen, F. J. The Native Tribes of Central 
Australia. London and New York, 1899. 


C. Human Nature and Industry 


(1) Taylor, F. W. The Principles of Scientific Management. New 
VOrK P1911. 

(2) Tead, O., and Metcalf, H. C. Personnel Administration. Its 
principles and practice. New York, 1920. , 

(3) Tead, O. Instincts in Industry. A study of working-class psy- 
chology. Boston, 1918. 

(4) Parker, C. H. The Casual Laborer and Other Essays. New York, 
1920. 

(5) Walker, Charles R. Steel. The diary of afurnace worker. Boston, 
1922. 

(6) ae R., and Hellpach, W. Gruppenfabrikation. Berlin, 1922. 


III. PERSONALITY 


The Genesis of Personality 


(1) Baldwin, J. M. Mental Development in the Child and the Race: 
Methods and Processes. 3d rev. ed. New York and London, 1906. 


HUMAN NATURE 153 


(2) Baldwin, J. M. Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental Develop- 
ments Chap. ii, “‘The Social Person,” pp. 66-98. 3d ed., rev. and 
enl. New York and London, 1902. 

(3) Sully, J. Studies of Childhood. rev. ed. New York, 1903. 

(4) King, I. The Psychology of Child Development. Chicago, 1903. 

(5) Thorndike, E. L. Notes on Child Study. New York, 1903. 

(6) Hall, G. S. Adolescence. Its psychology and its relations to 
physiology, anthropology, sociology, sex, erime, religion, and 
education. 2 vols. New York, 1904. 

(7) Shinn, Milicent W. Notes on the eat of a Child. University 
of California Studies. Nos. 1-4. 1893-99. 

(8) Kirkpatrick, E. A. The Individual FA the Making. Boston and 
New York, rort. 


B. Psyckology and Sociology of the Person 


(1) James, William. The Principles of Psychology. Chap. x, “‘Con- 
sciousness of Self,” I, 291-401. New York, 1890. 

(2) Bekhterev, V. M. (Bechterew, W. v.) Die Persénlichkeit und 
die Bedingungen threr Entwicklung und Gesundheit. ‘‘Grenzfragen 
des Nerven- und Seelenlebens,’”’ No. 45. Wiesbaden, 1906. 

(3) Bekhterev, V. M. (Bechterew, W. v.) Obshchie Osnovi Reflex- 
ologiyi Chelovyeka. [General Principles of Human Reflexology. 
Guide to the objective-biological study of the individual.] Moscow, 
1923. 

(4) Binet, A. Alterations of Personality. Translated by H. G. 
Baldwin. New York, 1806. 

(5) Ribot, T. A. Diseases of Personality. Authorized translation, 
ad rev. ed. Chicago, 1895. 

(6) Adler, A. The Neurotic Constitution. New York, 1917. 

(7) Prince, M. The Dissociation of a Personality. A biographical 
study in abnormal psychology. 2d ed. New York, 1913. 

(8) The Unconscious. The fundamentals of human_per- 
sonality, normal and abnormal. 2d rev. ed. New York, rga2t. 

(9) Coblenz, Felix. Ueber das betende Ich in den Psalmen. Ein 
Beitrag zur Erklaerung des Psalters. Frankfort, 1897. 

(10) Royce, J. Studies of Good and Evil. A series of essays upon 
problems of philosophy and life. Chap. viii, ‘‘Some Observations 
on the Anomalies of Self-consciousness,” pp. 169-97. A paper 
read before the Medico-Psychological Association of Boston, 
March 21, 1894. New York, 1808. 

(11) Stern, B. Werden und Wesen der Persénlichkeit. Biologische 
und historische Untersuchungen iiber menschliche Individualitat. 
Wien und Leipzig, 1913. 

(12) Spranger, Eduard. Lebensformen. Geisteswissenschaftliche Psy- 
chologie und Ethik der Persénlichkeit. Halle, 1922. 

(13) Shand, A. F. The Foundations of Character. Being a study of 
the tendencies of the emotions and sentiments. London, 1914. 

(14) White, A. K., and Macbeath, A. The Moral Self. Its nature and 
development. London, 1923. 





£54 INTRODUCTION TC THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


C. Materials for the Study of the Person 


(1) Theophrastus. Zhe Characters of Theophrastus. Translated from 
the Greek by R. C. Jebb. London, 1870. 

(2) La Bruyére, Jean de. Les caractéres, ou les meurs de ce siécle. 
Paris, 1916. The ‘Characters’ of Jean de La Bruyére. Translated 
from the French by Henri Van Laun. London, 1885. 

(3) Augustinus, Aurelius. The Confessions of St. Augustine. Trans- 
lated from the Latin by E. B. Pusly. London, 1907. 

(4) Wesley, John. The Journal of the Rev. John Wesley. New York 
and London, 1907. 

(5) Amiel, H. Journal intime. Translated by Mrs. Ward. London 
and New York, 1885. 

(6) Cellini, Benvenuto. Memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini. Translated 
from the Italian by J. A. Symonds. New York, 1808. 

(7) Woolman, John. Journal of the Life, Gospel Labors, and Christian 
Experiences of That Faithful Minister of Jesus Christ, John W oolman. 
Dublin, 1794. 

(8) Tolstoy, Count Leon. My Confession. Translated from the 
Russian. Paris and New York, 1887. My Religion. ‘Translated 
from the French. New York, 1885. 

(9) Riley, I. W. The Founder of Mormonism. A_ psychological 
study of Joseph Smith, Jr. New York, 1902. 

(10) Wilde, Oscar. De Profundis. New York and London, 190s. 

(11) Keller, Helen. The Story of My Life. New York, 1903. 

(12) Simmel, Georg. Goethe. Leipzig, 1913. 

(13) Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe 
and America. ‘‘Life-Record of an Immigrant,” III, 89-400. 
Boston, 1919. 

(14) Probst, Ferdinand. Der Fall Oito Weininger. ‘‘Grenzfragen des 
Nerven- und Seelenlebens,’”’ No. 31. Wiesbaden, 1904. 

(15) Anthony, Katherine. Margaret Fuller. A psychological biog- 
raphy. New York, 1920. . 

(16) Willard, Josiah Flynt. My Life. New York, 1908. 

(17) Tramping with Tramps. New York, 1899. 

(18) Cummings, B. F. The Journal of Disappointed Man, by Barbellion, 
W.N. P. [pseud.]. Introduction by H. G. Wells. New York, 19109. 

(19) Audoux, Marguerite. Marie Claire. Introduction by Octave 
Mirabeau. Translated from the French by J. N. Raphael. 
London:and New York, rott. 

(20) A Young Girl’s Diary. Prefaced with a letter by Sigmund Freud. 
Translated from the German by Eden and*Cedar Paul. New 
York, 1921. 

(21) Bjorkman, Edwin A. The Soul of a Child. New York, 1922. 

(22) Clemens, Samuel L. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark 
Twain [pseud.]. New York, 1903. 

(23) Hapgood, Hutchins. The Autobiography of a Thief. New York, 
1903. 

(24) Johnson, James W. The Autobiography of an ex-Colored Man. 
Published anonymously. Boston, 1912. 





HUMAN NATURE 155 


(25) Washington, Booker T. Up from Slavery. An autobiography. 
New York, rgor. 

(26) Du Bois, W. E. B. The Souls of Black Folk. Chicago, 1903. 

(27) Beers, C. W. A Mind That Found Itself. An autobiography. 
4th rev. ed. New York, 1917. 


IV. INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES 


A. The Nature of Individual Differences 
(1) Thorndike, E. L. Individuality. Boston, rort. 
(2) “Individual Differences and Their Causes,” Educational 
Psychology, III, 141-388. New York, 1913-14. 
(3) Stern, W. Ueber Psychologie der individuellen Differenzen. Leipzig, 





1900. 
(4) Hollingworth, Leta S. The Psychology of Subnormal Children. 
Chap. i. ‘Individual Differences.” New York, 1920. 


B. Mental Differences 


(1) Goddard, H. H. Feeble-mindedness. Its causes and consequences. 
New York, ro14. 

(2) Tredgold, A. F. Mental Deficiency. 2d ed. New York, 1916. 

(3) Bronner, Augusta F. The Psychology of Special Abilities and 
Disabilities. Boston, 1917. 

(4) Healy, William. Case Studies of Mentally and Mor ally Abnormal 
Types. Cambridge, Mass., 1912. 

(5) Pintner, Rudolf. J ntelligence Testing. Methods and _ results. 
New York, 1923. [See bibliographies at end of chapters.] 


C. Temperamental Differences 
1. Systematic Treatises: 

(1) Fouillée, A. Yempérament et caractére selon les individus, les 
sexes et les races. Paris, 1895. 

(2) Hirt, Eduard. Die Temperamente, ihr Wesen, ihre Bedeutung 
fiir das seelische Erleben und thre besonderen Gestaltungen. 
“Grenzfragen des Nerven- und Seelenlebens,” No. 40. Wies- 
baden, 1905. 

(3) Hoch, A., and Amsden, G. S. “A Guide to the Descriptive 
Study of Personality,” Review of Neurology and Psychiatry, 
(1913), 577-87. 

(4) Kraepelin, E. Psychiatrie. Ein Lehrbuch fiir Studierende und 
Arzte. Vol. IV, chap. xvi, pp. 1973-2116. 8th ed. 4 vols. 
Leipzig, 1909-15 

(5) Loewenfeld, L. ‘Ueber die geniale Getstesthitigkeit mit besonderer 
Berticksichtigung des Genie’s fiir bildende Kunst. ‘‘Grenzfragen 
des Nerven- und Seelenlebens,” No. 21. Wiesbaden, 1903. 


2. Temperamental Types: 
(1) Lombroso, C. The Man of Genius. Translated from the Italian. 
London and New York, 18o1. 
(2) L’uomo delinquente in rapporto all’antropologia, alla 
giurisprudenza ed alle discipline carcerarie. 3 vols. sth ed. 
Torino, 1896-97. 





156 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(3) Goring, Charles. The English Convict. A _ statistical study. 
London, 1913. 

(4) Wilmanns, Karl. Psychopathologie des Landstreichers. Leipzig, 
1906. 

(s) Downey, June E. The Will-Temperament and Its Testing. 
New York, 1923. 

(6) Pagnier, A. Le vagabond. Paris, 1g10. 

(7) Kowalewski, A. Studien zur Psychologie des Pessimismus. 
“Grenzfragen des Nerven- und Seelenlebens,” No. 24. Wies- 
baden, 1904. 


D. Sex Differences 


(1) Ellis, H. H. Man and Woman. A study of human secondary 
sexual characters. 5th rev. ed. London and New York, 1914. 

(2) Geddes, P., and Thomson, J. A. The Evolution of Sex. London, 
1889. 

(3) Thompson, Helen B. The Mental Traits of Sex. An experimental 
investigation of the normal mind in men and women. Chicago, 


1903. 

(4) Montague, Helen, and Hollingworth, Leta S. ‘The Comparative 
Variability of the Sexes at Birth,’ American Journal of Sociology, 
XX (1914-15), 335-70. 

(5) Thomas, W. I. Sex and Society. Chicago, 1907. 

(6) Weidensall, C. J. The Mentality of the Criminal Woman. A 
comparative study of the criminal woman, the working girl, and 
the efficient working woman, in a series of mental and physical 
tests. Baltimore, 1916. 

(7) Hollingworth, Leta S. ‘Variability as Related to Sex Differences 
in Achievement,” American Journal of Sociology, XIX (1913-14), 
510-30. [Bibliography.] 


E. Racial Differences 


(1) Boas, F. The Mind of Primitive Man. New York, tort. 

(2) Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to Torres Straits. 5 vols. 
Cambridge, rgo1-8. 

(3) Le Bon, G. The Psychology of Peoples. Its influence on their 
evolution. New York and London, 1898. _ [Translation.] 

(4) Bruner, F. G. ‘Hearing of Primitive Peoples,” Archives of Psy- 
chology, No. 11. New York, 1908. 

(5) Woodworth, R.S. ‘Racial Differences in Mental Traits,” Science, 
new series, X XI (1o10), 171-86. 

(6) Morse, Josiah. ‘‘A Comparison of White and Colored Children 
Measured by the Binet-Simon Scale of Intelligence,” Popular 
Science Monthly, LX XXIV (109014), 75-79. 

(7) Ferguson, G. O., Jr. “The Psychology of the Negro, an Experi- 
mental Study,” Archives of Psychology, No. 36. New York, 1916. 
[Bibliography.] 

(8) Peterson, Joseph. The Comparative Abilities of White and Negro 
Children. Baltimore, 1923. [Bibliography.] 

See Bibliography, ‘‘ Assimilation and Amalgamation,” p. 776.] 


PW HK 


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HUMAN NATURE 157 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Cooley’s Conception of Human Nature 

. Human Nature and the Instincts 

. Human Nature and the Mores 

. Studies in the Evolution of the Mores; Prohibition, Birth Control, 


the Social Status of Children 


. Labor Management as a Problem in Human Nature 

. Human Nature in Politics 

. Personality and the Self 

. Fersonality as a Sociological Concept 

. Temperament, Milieu, and Social Types; the Politician, Labor Leader, 


Minister, Actor, Lawyer, Taxi Driver, Chorus Girl, etc. 
Bohemian, Philistine, and Genius 


Literature as Source Material for the Study of Character 
Outstanding Personalities in a Selected Community 
Autobiography as Source Material for the Study of Human Nature 
Individual and Racial Differences Compared 

The Man of Genius as a Biological and a Sociological Product 
The Jukes and Kindred Studies of Inferior Groups 

History of the Binet-Simon Tests 

Mental Measurements and Vocational Guidance 

Psychiatry and Juvenile Delinquency 

Recent Studies of the Adolescent Girl 

Mental Inferiority and Crime 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. Is human nature that which is fundamental and alike in all individuals 


or is it those qualities which we recognize and appreciate as human 
when we meet them in individuals ? 


2. What is the relation between original nature and the environment ? 
3. What is the basis for the distinction made by Thorndike between 


reflexes, instincts, and inborn capacities ? 
What is the point of Dewey’s article “No Separate Instincts” ? What 
is the difference between the explosive discharge, the suppression, or 
the sublimation of an impulsive activity ? 


. What do you understand by Park’s statement that man is not born 


human ? 


. ‘‘Human nature is a superstructure.” What value has this metaphor ? 


What are its limitations? Suggest a metaphor which more adequately 
illustrates the relation of original nature to acquired nature. 


. In what sense can it be said that habit is a means of controlling original 


nature? 


158 


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14. 


10. 


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28. 


20. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What, according to Park, is the relation of character to instinct and 
habit? Do you agree with him ? 


. What do you understand by the statement that “original nature is 


blind ?” 

What relation has an ideal to (a) instinct and (b) group life? 

In what sense may we speak of the infant as the “natural man” ? 

To what extent are racial differences (a) those of original nature, 
(b) those acquired from experience ? 

What evidence is there for the position that sex differences in mental 
traits are acquired rather than inborn ? 

How do you distinguish between mentality and temperament ? 

How do you account for the great differences in achievement between 
the sexes ? 

What evidence is there of temperamental differences between the sexes? 
between races ? 

In the future will women equal men in achievement ? 


. What, in your judgment, is the range of individual differences? Is it 


less or greater than that of racial and sex differences ? 

What do you understand is the distinction between racia! inheritance 
as represeated by the instincts, and innate individual differences ? 
Do you think that both should be regarded as part of original nature? 
What is the effect of education and the division of labor (a) upon 
instincts and (b) upon individual differences ? 

Are individual differences or likenesses more important for society ? 
What do you understand to be the significance of individual differences 
(a) for social life; (b) for education; (c) for industry ? 

What do you understand by the remaking of human nature? What 
is the importance of this principle for politics, industry, and social 
progress ? 

Explain the proverbs: ‘Habit is ten times nature,” ‘‘ Habit is second 
nature.” 

What is Cooley’s definition of human nature? Do you agree or dis- 
agree with him? Elaborate your position. 

To what extent does human nature differ with race and geographic 
environment ? 

How would you reinterpret Aristotle’s and Hobbes’s conception of 
human nature in the light of this definition ? 

What illustrations of the difference between folkways and mores 
would you suggest ? 

Classify the following forms of behavior under (a) folkways or (6) 
mores: tipping the hat, saluting an officer, monogamy, attending 
church, Sabbath observance, prohibition, immersion as a form of 


30. 
$i 
aa. 


33: 


34. 


35: 


36. 


37: 


38. 
30. 
AO. 


AMS 
42. 


43. 


44. 
45. 


46. 


47. 


HUMAN NATURE 159 


baptism, the afternoon tea of the Englishman, the double standard of 
morals, the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule, the Constitution 
of the United States. 

What do you understand to be the relation of the mores to human 
nature? 

In what way is (a) habit related to will? (0) custom related to the 
general will ? 

How do you distinguish the general will (a) from law, (d) from 
custom ? 

Does any one of the following terms embody your conception of what 
is expressed by Sittlichkeit: good form, decency, self-respect, propriety, 
good breeding, convention ? 

Describe and analyze several concrete social situations where Szttlich- 
keit rather than conscience or law controlled the behavior of the person 
or of the group. 

What do you understand by convention? What is the relation of 
convention to instinct? Is convention a part of human nature to the 
same extent as loyalty, honor, etc. ? 

What is meant by the saying that mores, ritual, and convention are 
in the words of Hegel “‘objective mind” ? 

“The organism and the brain, as its highest representation, constitute 
the real personality.””’ What characteristics of personality are stressed 
in this definition ? 

Is there any significance to the fact that personality is derived from 
the Latin word persona (mask worn by actors) ? 

Is the conventional self a product of habit, or of Sitélichkeit, or of law, 
or of conscience ? 

What is the importance of other people to the development of self- 
consciousness ? 

Under what conditions does self-consciousness arise ? 

What do you understand by personality as a complex? As a total of 
mental complexes ? 

What is the relation of memory to personality as illustrated in the case 
of dual personality and of moods? 

What do you understand Cooley to mean by the looking-glass self ? 
What illustration would you suggest to indicate that an individual’s 
sense of his personality depends upon his status in the group ? 

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” 
Is personality adequately defined in terms of a person’s conception of 
his réle ? 

What is the sociological significance of the saying, “If you would have 
a virtue, feign it” ? 





160 


48. 


40. 


50. 
BT 
52. 
53: 
54. 
55: 


56. 


57: 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What, according to Bechterew, is the relation of personality to the 
social milieu ? 

What do you understand by the personality of peoples? What is the 
relation of the personality of peoples and the personalities of individuals 
who constitute the peoples ? 

What do you understand by the difference between nature and 
nurture ? f 

What are acquired characters? How are they transmitted ? 

What do you understand by the Mendelian principles of inheritance: 
(a) the hypothesis of unit characters; (b) the law of dominance; and 
(c) the law of segregation ? 

What illustrations of the differences between instinct and tradition 
would you suggest ? 

What is the difference between the blue eye as a defect in pigmentation, 
and of feeble-mindedness as a defective characteristic ? 

Should it be the policy of society to eliminate all members below a 
certain mental level either by segregation or by more drastic measures ? 
What principles of treatment of practical value to parents and teachers 
would you draw from the fact that feeble inhibition of temper is a 
trait transmitted by biological inheritance ? 

Why is an understanding of the principles of biological inheritance of 
importance to sociology ? 


. In what two ways, according to Keller, are acquired characters trans- 


mitted by tradition ? 


CHAPTER III 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 


I. INTRODUCTION 
I. Society, the Community, and the Group 


Human nature and the person are products of society. This is 
the sum and substance of the readings in the preceding chapter. 
But what, then, is society—this web in which the lives of individuals 
are so inextricably interwoven, and which seems at the same time so 
external and in a sense alien to them? From the point of view of 
common sense, ‘‘society”’ is sometimes conceived as the sum. total 
of social institutions. The family, the church, industry, the state, 
all taken together, constitute society. In this use of the word, society 
is identified with social structure, something more or less external 
to individuals. 

In accordance with another customary use of the term, “‘society”’ 
denotes a collection of persons. ‘This is a vaguer notion but it at 
least identifies society with individuals instead of setting it apart 
from them. But this definition is manifestly superficial.. Society 
is not a collection of persons in the sense that a brick pile is a collection 
of bricks. However we may conceive the relation of the parts of 
society to the whole, society is not a mere physical aggregation and - 
not a mere mathematical or statistical unit. 

Various explanations that strike deeper than surface observation 
have been proposed as solutions for this cardinal problem of the 
social one and the social many; of the relation of society to the 
individual. Society has been described as a tool, an instrument, as it 
were, an extension of the individual organism. ‘The argument runs 
something like this: —The human hand, though indeed a part of the 
physical organism, may be regarded as an instrument of the body 
as a whole. If as by accident it be lost, it is conceivable that a 
mechanical hand might be substituted for it, which, though not a 
part of the body, would function for all practical purposes as a hand 
of flesh and blood. A hoe may be regarded as a highly specialized 


I61 


a 


162 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


hand, so also logically, if less figuratively, a plow. So the hand of 
another person if it does your bidding may be regarded as your 
instrument, your hand. Language is witness to the fact that em- 
ployers speak of “the hands” which they “work.” Social institutions 
may likewise be thought of as tools of individuals for accomplishing 
their purposes. Logically, therefore, society, either as a sum of © 
institutions or as a collection of persons, may be conceived of as a 
sum total of instrumentalities, extensions of the functions of the human 
organism which enable individuals to carry on life-activities. From 
this standpoint society is an immense co-operative concern of mutual 
services. . 

This latter is an aspect of society which economists have sought 
to isolate and study. From this point of view the relations of indi- 
viduals are conceived as purely external to one another, like that of 
the plants in a plant community. Co-operation, so far as it exists, 
is competitive and ‘‘free.” 

In contrast with the view of society which regards social insti- 
tutions and the community itself as the mere instruments and tools 
of the individuals who compose it, is that which conceives society as 
resting upon biological adaptations, that is to say upon instincts, 
gregariousness, for example, imitation, or like-mindedness. The classic 
examples of societies based-on instinct are the social insects, the well- 
known bge and the celebrated ant. In human society the family, 
with its characteristic differences and interdependences of the sexes 
and the age groups, husband and wife, children and parents, most 
nearly realizes this description of society. In so far as the organiza- 
tion of society is predetermined by inherited or constitutional differ- 
ences, as is the case pre-eminently in the so-called animal societies, 
competition ceases and the relations of its component individuals 
become, so to speak, internal, and a permanent part of the structure 
of the group. ; | 

The social organization of human beings, on the other hand, 
the various types of social groups, and the changes which take place 
in them at different times under varying circumstances, are deter- 
mined not merely by instincts and by competition but by custom, 
tradition, public opinion, and contract. In animal societies as herds, 
flocks, and packs, collective behavior seems obviously to be explained 
in terms of instinct and emotion. In the case of man, however, 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 163 


instincts are changed into habits; emotions, into sentiments. Fur- 
thermore, all these forms of behavior tend to become conventionalized 
and thus become relatively independent of individuals and of instincts. 
The behavior of the person is thus eventually controlled by the 
sae: standards which, implicit in the mores, are explicit in the laws. _ 
ociety now may be defined-as the social heritage of habit and senti- 
ment, folkways and mores, technique and~culture, all of which are 
incident or necessary to collective human behavior. 

Human society, then, unlike animal society, is mainly a social 
heritage, created in and transmitted by communication. The con- 
tinuity and life of a society depend upon its success in transmitting 
from one generation to the next its folkways, mores, technique, and 
ideals. From the standpoint of collective behavior these cultural 
traits may all be reduced to the one term “consensus.’’ Society 
viewed abstractly is an organization of individuals; considered con- 
cretely it is a complex of organized habits, sentiments, and social 
attitudes—in short, consensus:~ 

The terms society, community, and social group are now used by 
students with a certain difference of emphasis but with very little 
difference in meaning. Society is the more abstract and inclusive 
term, and society is made up of social groups, each possessing its own 
specific type of organization but having at the same time all the 
general characteristics of society in the abstract. Community BY 
the term which is applied to societies and social groups where they 
are considered from the point of view of the geographical distribution \ 
of the individuals and institutions of which they are composed. It 
follows that every community is a society, but not every society is a 
community. An individual may belong to many social groups but 
he will not ordinarily belong to more than one community, except in 
so far as a smaller community of which he is a member is included _ 
in a larger of which he is also a member. However, an individual — 
is not, at least from a sociological point of view,a member ofacommu- / 
nity because he lives in it but rather because, and to the extent that, / 
he participates in the common life of the community. | 

The term social group has come into use with the attempts of 
students to classify societies. Societies may be classified with refer- 
ence to the réle which they play in the organization and life of larger 
social groups or societies. The internal organization of any given 


164 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


social group will be determined by its external relation to other groups 
in the society of which it is a part as well as by the relations of 
individuals within the group to one another. A boys’ gang, a girls’ 
clique, a college class, or a neighborhood conforms to this definition 
quite as much as a labor union, a business enterprise, a political party, 
or a nation. One advantage of the term “group” lies in the fact 
that it may be applied to the smallest as well as to the largest forms 


of human association. 5 


2. Classification of the Materials 


Society, in the most inclusive sense of that term, the Great 
Society, as Graham Wallas described it, turns out upon analysis to be 
a constellation of other smaller societies, that is to say races, peoples, 
parties, factions, cliques, clubs, etc. The community, the world- 

/ community, on the other hand, which is merely the Great Society 
~ viewed from the standpoint of the territorial distribution of its 
members, presents a different series of social groupings and the Great 
Society in this aspect exhibits a totally different pattern. From the 
point of view of the territorial distribution of the individuals that 
constitute it, the world-community is composed of nations, colonies, 
spheres of influence, cities, towns, local communities, neighborhoods, 
and families. ; 

/ These represent in a rough way the subject-matter of sociological 
science. ‘Their organization, interrelation, constituent elements, and 
\— the characteristic changes (social processes) which take place in them 
‘are the phenomena of sociclogical science. 

Human beings as we meet them are mobile entities, variously 
distributed through geographical space. What is the nature of the 
connection between individuals which permits them at the same time 
to preserve their distances and act corporately and consentiently— 
with a common purpose, in short? These distances which separate 
individuals are not merely spatial, they are psychical. Society exists 
where these distances have been relatively overcome. Society exists, 
in short, not merely where there are people but where dea is com- 


-—munication. ee ee 


The materials in this chapter are intended to show (1) the funda- 
mental character of the relations which have been established between 
individuals through communication; (2) the gradual evolution of 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 165 


these relations in animal and human societies. On the basis of the 

principle thus established it is possible to work out a rational classi- 

fication of social groups. ran 
Espinas defines society in terms of corporate action. Wherever “ 

separate individuals act together as a unit, where they co-operate as 

though they were parts of the same organism, there he finds society. 

Society from this standpoint is not confined to members of one species, 

but may be composed of different members of species where there is 

permanent joint activity. In the study of symbiosis among animals, 

it is significant to note the presence of structural adaptations in one 

or both species. In the taming and domestication of animals by man 

the effects of symbiosis are manifest. Domestication, by the selection 

in breeding of traits desired by man, changes the original nature of 

the animal. Taming is achieved by control of habits in transferring 

to man the filial and gregarious responses of the young naturally 

given to its parents and members of its kind. Man may be thought 

of as domesticated through natural social selection. Eugenics is a 

conscious program of further domestication by the elimination of 

defective physical and mental racial traits and by the improvement 

of the racial stock through the social selection of superior traits. 

Taming has always been a function of human society, but it is digni- \/ 

fied by such denominations as “‘education,” ‘social control,” “ pun- 


ishment,” and “reformation.” 7 e 


The plant community offers the simplest and least qualified 
example of the community. Plant life, in fact, offers an illustration 
of a community which is not a society. It is not a society because it 
is an organization of individuals whose relations, if not wholly external, 
are, at any rate, “‘unsocial’’ in so far as there is no consensus. The 
plant community is interesting, moreover, because it exhibits in the 
‘barest abstraction, the character of competitive~co-operation, | 


aspect of social life which constitutes part of the special subject- 
matter of economic science. 

This struggle for-existence, in some form or other, is in fact |; 
essential to the existence of society. Competition, segregation, and ~ 
accommodation serve to maintain the social distances, to fix the 
status, and preserve the independence of the individual in the social 
relation. A society in which all distances, physica! as well as psychi- 
cal, had been abolished, in which there was neither taboo, prejudice, 


166 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


nor reserve of any sort; a society in which the intimacies were absolute, 
would be a society in which there were neither persons nor freedom. 
The processes of competition, segregation, and accommodation brought 
out in the description of the plant community are quite comparable 
with the same processes in animal and human communities. A 
village, town, city, or nation may be studied from the standpoint 
of the adaptation, struggle for existence, and survival of its indi- 
vidual members in the environment created by the community as a 
whole. 

Society, as Dewey points out, if based on instinct is an effect of 
communication. Consensus even more than co-operation or corporate 
action is the distinctive mark of human society. Dewey, however, 
seems to restrict the use of consensus to group decisions in which all 
the members consciously and rationally participate. Tradition and 
sentiment are, however, forms of consensus quite as much as con- 
stitutions, rules, and elections. 

Le Bon’s classification of social groups into heterogeneous and 
homogeneous crowds, while interesting and suggestive, is clearly 
inadequate. Many groups familiar to all of us, as the family, the 
play-group, the neighborhood, the public, find no place in his system.* 

/ Concrete descriptions of group behavior indicate three aspects 
in the consensus of the members of the group. ‘The first is the 
characteristic state of group feeling called esprit de corps. ‘The 
enthusiasm of the two sides in a football contest, the ecstasy of 
religious ceremonial, the fellowship of members of a fraternity, the 
brotherhood of a monastic band are all different manifestations. of 
group spirit. } 

The second aspect of consensus has become familiar through the 
term “morale.”” Morale may be defined as the collective will.Like 
the will of the individual it represents an organization of behavior 
tendencies. The discipline of the individual, his subordination to 
the group, lies in his participation and reglementation in social 
activities. 

The third aspect of consensus which makes for unified behavior 
of the members of the group has been analyzed by Durkheim under 
the term ‘“‘collective representations.’ Collective representations 
are the concepts which embody the objectives of group activity. 


' tSee supra, chap. i, pp. 50-51. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 167 


The totem of primitive man, the flag of a nation, a religious 
creed, the number system, and Darwin’s theory of the descent of 
man—all these are collective representations. Every society and 
every social group has, or tends to have, its own symbols and its own 
language. The language and ‘other symbolic devices by which a 
society carries on its collective existence are collective representations. 
Animals do not possess them. 


II. MATERIALS 
A. SOCIETY AND SYMBIOSIS 


1. Definition of Society' 


The idea of society _is that of a permanent co-operation in which 
separate living beings undertake to accomplish an identical act.*/ 
These beings may find themselves brought by their conditions to a 
point where their co-operation forces them to group themselves in 
space in some definite form, but it is by no means necessary that 
they should be in juxtaposition for them to act together and thus to 
form a society. A customary reciprocation of services among more 
or less independent-individualities_is the characteristic feature of the 
social life, a feature that contact or remoteness does not essentially 
modify, nor the apparent disorder nor the regular disposition of the 
parties in space. 

Two beings may then form what is to the eyes a single mass, and 
may live, not only in contact with each other, but even in a state * 
of mutual penetration without constituting a society. It is enough 
in such a case that one looks at them as entirely distinct, that their 
activities tend to opposite or merely different ends. If their functions, 
instead of co-operating, diverge; if the good of one is the evil of the 
other, whatever the intimacy of their contact may be, no social, 
bond unites them. 

But the nature of the functions and the form of the organs are 
inseparable. If two beings are endowed with functions that neces- 
sarily combine, they are also endowed with organs, if not similar, at 
least corresponding. And these beings with like or corresponding 
organs are either of the same species or of very nearly the same 
species. 


™ Translated from Alfred Espinas, Des sociétés animales (1878), pp. 157-60. 


168 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


However, circumstances may be met where two beings with quite 
different organs and belonging even to widely remote species may be 
accidentally and at a single point useful to each other. A habitual 
relation may be established between their activities, but only on this 
one point, and in the time limits in which the usefulness exists. 
Such a case gives the occasion, if not for a society, at least for an 
association; that is to say, a union less necessary, less strict, less 
durable, may find its origin in such a meeting. In other words, 
beside the normal societies formed of elements specifically alike, 
which cannot exist without each other, there will be room for more 
accidental groupings, formed of elements more or less specifically 
unlike, which convenience unites and not necessity. We will com- 
mence with a study of the latter. 

To society the most alien relations of.two living beings which 
can be produced are those of the predator and his prey. In general, 
the predator is bulkier than his prey, since he overcomes him and 
devours him. Yet smaller ones sometimes attack larger creatures, 
consuming them, however, by instalments, and letting them live 
that they themselves may live on them as long as possible. In such 
a case they are forced to remain for a longer or a shorter time attached 
to the pody of their victim, carried about by it wherever the vicissi- 
tudes ot its life lead them. Such animals have received the name of 
parasites. Parasitism forms the line inside of which our subject 
begins; for if one can imagine that the parasite, instead of feeding 
on the anima] from whom he draws his subsistence, is content to live 
on the remains of the other’s meals, one will find himself in the 
presence, not yet of an actual society, but of half the conditions of a 
society; that is to say, a relation between two beings such that, all 
antagonism ceasing, one of the two is useful to the other. Such is 
commensalism. However, this association does not yet offer the 
essential element of all society, co-operation. There is co-operation 
when the commensal is not less useful to his host than the latter is 
to the commensal himself, when the two are concerned in living in a 
reciprocal relation and in developing their double activity in cor- 
responding ways toward a single and an identical goal. One has 
given to this mode of activity the name of mutualism. Domestica- 
tion is only one form of it. Parasitism, commensalism, mutualism, 
exist with animals among the different species. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 169 


2. Symbiosis (literaily “living together’’)! 


In gaining their wide and intimate acquaintance with the vegetable 
world the ants have also become acquainted with a large number of 
insects that obtain their nutriment directly from plants, either by 
sucking up their juices or by feeding on their foliage. To the former 
group belong the phytophthorous Homoptera, the plant lice, scale 
insects, or mealy bugs, tree-hoppers, lantern flies, and jumping 
plant lice; to the latter belong the caterpillars of the lycaenid butter- 
flies, the ‘“‘blues,” or ‘‘azures,” as they are popularly called. Ali of 
these creatures excrete liquids which are eagerly sought by the ants 
and constitute the whole, or, at any rate, an important part of the 
food of certain species. In return the Homoptera and caterpillars 
recelve certain services from the ants, so that the relations thus 
established between these widely different insects may be regarded 
as a kind of symbiosis. ‘These relations are most apparent in the 
case of the aphids, and these insects have been more often and more 
closely studied in Europe and America. 

The consociation of the ants with the aphids is greatly facilitated 
by the gregarious and rather sedentary habits of the latter, especially 
in their younger, wingless stages, for the ants are thus enabled to 
obtain a large amount of food without losing time and energy in 
ranging far afield from their nests. Then, tov, the ants may estab- 
lish their nests in the immediate vicinity of the aphid droves or 
actually keep them in their nests or in “‘sheds”’ carefully constructed 
for the purpose. 

Some ants obtain the honey-dew merely by licking the surface of 
the leaves and stems on which it has fallen, but many species have 
learned to stroke the aphids and induce them to void the liquid 
gradually so that it can be imbibed directly. A drove of plant lice, 
especially when it is stationed on young and succulent leaves or twigs, 
may produce enough honey-dew to feed a whole colony of ants for a 
considerable period. 

As the relations between ants and the various Homoptera have 
been regarded as mutualistic, it may be well to marshal the facts 
which seem to warrant this interpretation. The term “mutualism” 
as applied to these cases means, of course, that the aphids, coccids, 


t Adapted from William M. Wheeler, Ants, Their Structure, Development, 
Behavior, pp. 339-424. (Columbia University Press, 1910.) 


170 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and membracids are of service to the ants and in turn profit by the 
companionship of these more active and aggressive insects. Among 
the modifications in structure and behavior which may be regarded 
as indicating on the part of aphids unmistakable evidence of adapta- 
tion to living with ants, the following may be cited: 

1. The aphids do not attempt to escape from the ants or to 
defend themselves with their siphons, but accept the presence of 
these attendants as a matter of course. 

2. The aphids respond to the solicitations of the ants by extrud- 
ing the droplets of honey-dew gradually and not by throwing them 
off to a distance with a sudden jerk, as they do in the absence 
of ants. | 

3. Many species of Aphididae that live habitually with ants 
have developed a perianal circlet of stiff hairs which support the drop 
of honey-dew till it can be imbibed by the ants. This circlet is 
lacking in aphids that are rarely or never visited by ants. 

4. Certain observations gc to show that aphids, when visited 
by ants, extract more of the plant juices than when unattended. 

The adaptations on the part of the ants are, with a single doubtful 
exception, all modifications in behavior and not in structure. 

1. Ants do not seize and kill aphids as they do when they encoun- 
ter other sedentary defenseless insects. 

2. The ants stroke the aphids in a particular manner in order to 
make them excrete the honey-dew, and know exactly where to 
expect the evacuated liquid. 

3. The ants protect the aphids. Several observers have seen 
the ants driving away predatory insects. 

4. Many aphidicolous ants, when disturbed, at once seize and 
carry their charges in their mandibles to a place of safety, showing 
very plainly their sense of ownership and interest in these helpless 
creatures. 

5. This is also exhibited by all ants that harbor root-aphids and 
root-coccids in their nests. Not only are these insects kept in con- 
finement by the ants, but they are placed by them on the roots. In 
order to do this the ants remove the earth from the surfaces of the 
roots and construct galleries and chambers around them so that 
the Homoptera may have easy access to their food and even move 
about at will. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP V7.2 


6. Many ants construct, often at some distance from their nests, 
little closed pavilions or sheds of earth, carton, or silk, as a protection 
for their cattle and for themselves. The singular habit may be 
merely a more recent development from the older and more general 
habit of excavating tunnels and chambers about roots and subter- 
ranean stems. 

7. The solicitude of the ants not only envelops the adult aphids 
and coccids, but extends also to their eggs and young. Numerous 
observers have observed ants in the autumn collecting and storing 
aphid eggs in the chambers of their nests, caring for them through 
the winter and in the spring placing the recently hatched plant lice 
on the stems and roots of the plants. 

In the foregoing I have discussed the ethological relations of ants 
to a variety of other organisms. This, however, did not include an 
account of some of the most interesting symbiotic relations, namely, 
those of the ants to other species of their own taxonomic group and 
to termites. ‘This living together of colonies of different species may 
be properly designated as social symbiosis, to distinguish it from 
the simple symbiosis that obtains between individual organisms of 
different species and the intermediate form of symbiosis exhibited 
by individual organisms that live in ant or termite colonies. 

The researches of the past forty years have brought to light a 
remarkable array of instances of social symbiosis, varying so much 
in intimacy and complexity that it is possible to construct a series 
ranging from mere simultaneous occupancy of a very narrow etho- 
logical station, or mere contiguity of domicile, to an actual fusion, 
involving the vital dependence or parasitism of a colony of one species 
on that of another. Such a series is, of course, purely conceptual and 
does not represent the actual course of development in nature, where, 
as in the animal and vegetable kingdoms in general, development has 
not followed a simple linear course, but has branched out repeatedly 
and terminated in the varied types at the present time. 

It is convenient to follow the European writers, von Hagens, 
Forel, Wasmann, and others, in grouping all the cases of social 
symbiosis under two heads, the compound nests and the mixed 
colonies. Different species of ants or of ants and termites are said 
to form compound nests when their galleries are merely contiguous 
or actually interpenetrate and open into one another, although the 


B72 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


colonies which inhabit them bring up their respective offspring in 
different apartments. In mixed colonies, on the other hand, which, 
in a state of nature, can be formed only by species of ants of close 
taxonomic affinities, the insects live together in a single nest and 
bring up their young in common. Although each of these cate- 
zories comprises a number of dissimilar types of social symbiosis, and 
although it is possible, under certain circumstances, as will be shown in 
the sequel, to convert a compound nest into a mixed colony, the dis- 
tinction is nevertheless fundamental. It must be admitted, however, 
that both types depend in last analysis on the dependent, adoption- 
seeking instincts of the queen ant and on the remarkable plasticity 
which enables allied species and genera to live in very close prox- 
imity to one another. By a strange paradox these peculiarities have 
been produced in the struggle for existence, although this struggle is 
severer among different species of ants than between ants and other 
organisms. As Forel says: ‘The greatest enemies of ants are other 
ants, just as the greatest enemies of men are other men.” 


3. The Taming and the Domestication of Animals! 


Frimitive man was a hunter almost before he had the intelli- 
gence to use weapons, and from the earliest times he must have 
learned something about the habits of the wild animals he pursued 
for food or for pleasure, or from which he had to escape. It was 
probablv as a hunter that he first came to adopt young animals 
which he found in the woods or the plains, and made the surprising 
discovery that these were willing to remain under his protection and 
were pleasing and useful. He passed gradually from being a hunter 
to becoming a keeper of flocks and herds. From these early days to 
the present time, the human race has taken an interest in the lower 
animals, and yet extremely few have been really domesticated. The 
living world would seem to offer an almost unlimited range of creatures 
which might be turned to our profit and as domesticated animals 
minister to our comfort or convenience. And yet it seems as if 
there were some obstacle rooted in the nature of animals or in the 
powers of man, for the date of the adoption by man of the few domes- 
ticated species lies in remote, prehistoric antiquity. The surface of 
the earth has been explored, the physiology of breeding and feeding 


* Adapted from P. Chalmers Mitchell, The Childhood of Animals, pp. 204-21. 
(Frederick A. Stokes & Co., 1912.) 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 173 


has been studied, our knowledge of the animal kingdom has been 
vastly increased, and yet there is hardly a beast bred in the farm- 
yard today with which the men who made stone weapons were not 
acquainted and which they had not tamed. Most of the domestic 
animals of Europe, America, and Asia came originally from Central 
Asia, and have spread thence in charge of their masters, the primitive 
hunters who captured them. 

No monkeys have been domesticated. Of the carnivores only 
the cat and the dog are truly domesticated. Of the ungulates there 
are horses and asses, pigs, cattle, sheep, goats, and reindeer. Among 
rodents there are rabbits and guinea-pigs, and possibly some of the 
fancy breeds of rats and mice should be included. Among birds 
there are pigeons, fowls, peacocks, and guinea-fowl, and aquatic 
birds such as swans, geese, and ducks, whilst the only really domes- 
ticated passerine bird is the canary. Goldfish are domesticated, 
and the invertebrate bees and silk-moths must not be forgotten. It 
is not very easy to draw a line between domesticated animals and 
animals that are often bred in partial or complete captivity. Such 
antelopes as elands, fallow-deer, roe-deer, and the ostriches of ostrich 
farms are on the border-line of being domesticated. 

It is also difficult to be quite certain as to what is meant by a 
tame animal. Cockroaches usually scuttle away when they are 
disturbed and seem to have learnt that human beings have a just 
grievance against them. But many people have no horror of them. 
A pretty girl, clean and dainty in her ways, and devoted to all kinds 
of animals, used to like sitting in a kitchen that was infested with 
these repulsive creatures, and told me that when she was alone they 
would run over her dress and were not in the least startled when 
she took them up. I have heard of a butterfly whicl used to come 
and sip sugar from the hand of a lady; and those who have kept 
spiders and ants declare that these intelligent creatures learn to dis- 
tinguish their friends. So also fish, like the great carp in the garden 
of the palace of Fontainebleau, and many fishes in aquaria and 
private ponds, learn to come to be fed. I do not think, however, 
that these ought to be called tame animals. Most cf the wild animals 
in menageries very quickly learn to distinguish one person from 
another, to obey the call of their keeper and to come to be fed, 
although certainly they would be dangerous even to the keeper if 


174 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


he were to enter their cages. To my mind, tameness is something 
more than merely coming to bé/fed, and, in fact, many tame animals 
are least tame when they are feeding. Young carnivores, for instance, 
which can be handled freely and are affectionate, very seldom can be 
touched whilst they are feeding. The real quality of tameness is 
that the tame animal is not-merely tolerant-of-the présence of man, 
not merely has learned to associate him with food, but takes some 
kind of pleasure in human company and shows some kind of affection? 
On the other hand, we must not take our idea of tameness merely 
from the domesticated animals. These have been bred for many 
generations, and those that were most wild and that showed any 
resistance to man were killed or allowed to escape. Dogs are always 
taken as the supreme example of tameness, and sentimentalists have 
almost exhausted the resources of language in praising them. Like 
most people, I am very fond of dogs, but it is an affection without 
respect. Dogs breed freely in captivity, and in the enormous period 
of time that has elapsed since the first hunters adopted wild puppies 
there has been a constant selection by man, and every dog that 
showed any independence of spirit has been killed off. Man has 
tried to produce a purely subservient creature, and has succeeded in 
his task. No doubt a dog is faithful and affectionate, but he would 
be shot or drowned or ordered to be destroyed by the local magistrate 
if he were otherwise. A small vestige of the original spirit has been 
left in him, merely from the ambition of his owners to possess an 
animal that will not bite them, but will bite anyone else. And even 
this watch-dog trait is mechanical, for the guardian of the house will 
worry the harmless, necessary postman, and welcome the bold 
burglar with fawning delight. The dog is a slave, and the crowning 
evidence of his docility, that he will fawn on the person who has 
beaten him, is the result of his character having been bred out of 
him. The dog is an engaging companion, an animated toy more 
diverting than the cleverest piece of clockwork, but it is only our 
colossal vanity that makes us take credit for the affection and faith- 
fulness of our own particular animal. ‘The poor beast cannot help it; 
all else has been bred out of him generations ago. 
_ When wild animals become tame, they are really extending or 
transferring to human beings the confidence and affection they 
naturaliy give their mothers, and this view will be found to explain 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 175 


more facts about tameness than any other. Every creature that 
would naturally enjoy maternal, or it would be better to say parental, 
care, as the father sometimes shares in or takes upon himself the 
duty of guarding the young, is ready to transfer its devotion to 
other animals or to human beings, if the way be made easy for it, 
and if it be treated without too great violation of its natural instincts. 
The capacity to be tamed is greatest in those animals that remain 
longest with their parents and that are most intimately associated 
with them. The capacity to learn new habits is greatest in those 
animals which naturally learn most from their parents, and in which 
the period of youth is not merely a period of growing, a period of 
the awakening of instincts, but a time in which a real education takes 
place. These capacities of being tamed and of learning new habits 
are greater in the higher mammals than in the lower mammals, in 
mammals than in birds, and in birds than in reptiles. They are 
very much greater in very young animals, where dependence on the 
parents is greatest, than in older animals, and they gradually 
fade away as the animal grows up, and are least of all in fully grown 
and independent creatures of high intelligence. 

Young animals born in captivity/are no more easy to tame than 
those which have been taken from the mother in her native haunts. 
If they remain with the mother, they very often grow up even shyer 
and more intolerant of man than the mothers themselves. There is 
no inherited docility or tameness, and a general survey of the facts 
fully bears out my belief that the process of taming is almost entirely 
a transference to human beings /of the confidence and affection that 
a young animal would naturally give its mother. The process of 
domestication is different, and) requires breeding a race of animals in 
captivity for many generations and gradually weeding out those in 
which youthful tameness is réplaced by the wild instinct of adult life, 
and so creating a strain with new and abnormal instincts. , 


B. PLANT COMMUNITIES AND ANIMAL SOCIETIES 
-I1. Plant Communities? 
Certain species group themselves into natural associations, that 
is to say, into communities which we meet with more or less frequently 


t Adapted from’ Eugenius Warming, Occology of Plants, pp. 12-13, 91-05. 
(Oxford University’ Press, 1909.) 


176 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and which exhibit the same combination of growth-forms and the 
same facies. As examples in northern Europe may be cited a meadow 
with its grasses and perennial herbs, or a beech forest with its beech 
trees and all the species usually accompanying these. Species that 
form a community must either practice the same economy, making 
approximately the same demands on its environment (as regards 
nourishment, light, moisture, and so forth), or one species present 
must be dependent for its existence upon another species, sometimes 
to such an extent that the latter provides it with what is necessary 
or even best suited to it (Oxalis Acetosella and saprophytes which 
profit from the shade of the beech and from its humus soil); a kind 
of symbiosis seems to prevail between such species. In fact, one 
often finds, as in beech forests, that the plants growing under the 
shade and protection of other species, and belonging to the most 
diverse families, assume growth-forms that are very similar to one 
another, but essentially different from those of the forest trees, which, 
in their turn, often agree with one another. 

The ecological analysis of a plant-community leads to the recog- 
nition of the growth-forms composing it as its ultimate units. From 
what has just been said in regard to growth-forms it follows that 
species of very diverse physiognomy can very easily occur together 
in the same natural community. But beyond this, as already indi- 
cated, species differing widely, not only in physiognomy but also in 
their whole economy, may be associated. We may therefore expect 
to find both great variety of forrn and complexity of interrelations . 
among the species composing a natural community; as an example 
we may cite the richest of all types of communities—the tropical rain- 
forest. It may also be noted that the physiognomy of a community 
is not necessarily the same at all times of the year, the distinction 
sometimes being caused by a rotation of species. 

The different communities, it need hardly be stated, are scarcely 
ever sharply marked off from one another. Just as soil, moisture, 
and other external conditions are connected by the most gradual 
transitions, so likewise are the plant-communities, especially in cul- 
tivated lands. In addition, the same species often occur in several 
widely different communities; for example, Lirinaea borealis grows 
not only in coniferous forests, but also in birch wods, and even high 
above the tree limit on the mountains of Nor. sy \and on the fell- 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 177 


fields of Greenland. It appears that different combinations of 
external factors can replace one another and bring into existence 
approximately the same community, or at least can satisfy equally 
well one and the same species, and that, for instance, a moist climate 
often completely replaces the forest shade of dry climates. 


The term “community” implies a diversity but at the same time V4 


a certain organized uniformity in the units. The units are the many 
individual plants that occur in every community, whether this be a 
beech forest, a meadow, or a heath. Uniformity is established when 
certain atmospheric, terrestrial, and other factors are co-operative, 
and appears either because a certain defined economy makes its 
impress on the community as a whole, or because a number of differ- 
ent growth-forms are combined to form a single aggregate which has 
a definite and constant guise. 

The analysis of a plant-community usually reveals one or more 
of the kinds of symbiosis as illustrated by parasites, saprophytes, 
epiphytes, and the like. ‘There is scarce a forest or a bushland where 
examples of these forms of symbiosis are lacking; if, for instance, we 
investigate the tropical rain-forest we are certain to find in it all con- 
ceivable kinds of symbiosis. But the majority of individuals of a 
plant-community are linked by bonds other than those mentioned— 
bonds that are best described as commensal. The term commensahism 
is due to Van Beneden, who wrote, “Le commensal est simplement 
un compagnon de table”; but we employ it in a somewhat different 
sense to denote the relationship subsisting between species which 
share with one another the supply of food-material contained in soil 
and air, and thus feed at the same table. 

More detailed analysis of the plant-community reveals very 
considerable distinctions among commensals. Some relationships 
are considered in the succeeding paragraphs. 

Like commensals.—When a plant-community consists solely of 
individuals belonging to one species—for example, solely of beech, 
ling, or Aira flexuosa—then we have the purest example of like com- 
mensals. ‘These all make the same demands as regards nutriment, 
soil, light, and other like conditions; as each species requires a cer- 
tain amount of space and as there is scarcely ever sufficient nutriment 
for all the offspring, a struggle for food arises among the plants so 
soon as the space is occupied by the definite numbers of individuals 


“=a, 


178 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


which, according to the species, can develop thereon. ‘The individuals 
lodged in unfavorable places and the weaklings are vanquished and 
exterminated. This competitive struggle takes place in all plant- 
communities, with perhaps the sole exceptions of sub-glacial com- 
munities and in deserts. In these open communities the soil is very 
often or always so open and so irregularly clothed that there is space 
for many more individuals than are actually present; the cause for 
this is obviously to be sought in the climatically unfavorable condi- 
tions of life, which either prevent plants from producing seed and 
other propagative bodies in sufficient numbers to clothe the ground 
or prevent the development of seedlings. On such soil one can 
scarcely speak of a competitive struggle for existence; in this case a 
struggle takes place between the plant and inanimate nature, but to 
little or no extent between plant and plant. 

That a congregation of individuals belonging to one species into 
one community may be profitable to the species is evident; it may 
obviously in several ways aid in maintaining the existence of the 
species, for instance, by facilitating abundant and certain fertilization 
(especially in anemophilous plants) and maturation of seeds; in 
addition, the social mode of existence may confer other less-known 
advantages. But, on the other hand, it brings with it greater danger 
of serious damage and devastation wrought by parasites. 

The bonds that hold like individuals to a like habitat are, as 
already indicated, identical demands as regards existence, and these 
demands are satisfied in their precise habitat to such an extent that 
the species can maintain itself here against rivals. Natural unmixed 
associations of forest trees are the result of struggles with other 
species. But there are differences as regards the ease with which 
a community can arise and establish itself. Some species are more 


social than others, that is to say, better fitted to form communities. 


The causes for this are biological, in that some species, like Phrag- 
mites, Scirpus lacustris, Psamma (Ammophila) arenaria, Tussilago, 
Farfara, and Asperula odorata, multiply very readily by means of 
stolons; or others, such as Cirsium arvense, and Sonchus arvensis, 
produce buds from their roots; or yet others produce numerous 
seeds which are easily dispersed and may remain for a long time 
capable of germinating, as is the case with Calluna, Picea excelsa, 
and Pinus; or still other species, such as beech and spruce, have the 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 179 


power of enduring shade or even suppressing other species by the 
shade they cast. A number of species, such as Pteris aquilina, 
Acorus Calamus, Lemna minor, and Hypnum Schreberi, which are 
social, and likewise very widely distributed, multiply nearly exclu- 
sively by vegetative means, rarely or never producing fruit. On the 
contrary, certain species, for example, many orchids and Umbel- 
liferae, nearly always grow singly. 

In the case of many species certain geological conditions have 
favored their grouping together into pure communities. The forests 
of northern Europe are composed of few species, and are not mixed 
in the same sense as are those in the tropics, or even those in Austria 
and other southern parts of Europe: the cause for this may be that 
the soil is geologically very recent, inasmuch as the time that has 
elapsed since the glacial epoch swept it clear has been too short to 
permit the immigration of many competitive species. 

Unlike commensals.—The case of a community consisting of 
individuals belonging to one species is, strictly speaking, scarcely 
ever met with; but the dominant individuals of a community may 
belong to a single species, as in the case of a beech forest, spruce 
forest, or ling heath—and only thus far does the case proceed. In 
general, many species grow side by side, and many different growth- 
forms and types of symbiosis, in the extended sense, are found col- 
lected in a community. For even when one species occupies an 
area as completely as the nature of the soil will permit, other species 
can find room and can grow between its individuals; in fact, if the soil 
is to be.completely covered the vegetation must necessarily always be 
heterogeneous. ‘The greatest aggregate of existence arises where the 


greatest diversity prevails... The kind of communal life ee 


will depend upon the nature of the demands made by the species in 
regard to conditions of life. As in human communities, so in this 
case, the struggle between the like is the most severe, that is, between 
the species making more or less the same demands and wanting the 
same dishes from the common table. In a tropical mixed forest 
there are hundreds of species of trees growing together in such pro- 


fuse variety that the eye can scarce see at one time two individuals * 


of the same species, yet all of them undoubtedly represent tolerable 
uniformity in the demands they make as regards conditions of life, 
and in so far they are alike. And among them a severe competition 


av 


18c INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


for food must be taking place. In those cases in which certain 
species readily grow in each other’s company—and cases of this kind 
are familiar to florists—when, for instance, Isoetes, Lobelia Dort- 
manna, and Litorella lacustris occur together—the common demands 
made as regards external conditions obviously form the bond that 
unites them. Between such species a competitive struggle must 
take place. Which of the species shall be represented by the greatest 
number of individuals certainly often depends upon casual conditions, 
a slight change in one direction or the other doubtless often playing a 
decisive role; but apart from this it appears that morphological and 
biological features, for example, development at a different season, 
may change the nature of the competition. 

Yet there are in every plant-community numerous species which 
differ widely in the demands they make for light, heat, nutriment, 
and so on. Between such species there is less competition, the 
greater the disparity in their wants; the case is quite conceivable in 
which the one species should require exactly what the other would avoid; 
the two species would then be complementary to one another in their 
occupation and utilization of the same soil. 

There are also obvious cases in which different species are of 
service to each other. The carpet of moss in a pine forest, for 
example, protects the soil from desiccation and is thus useful to the 
pine; yet, on the other hand, it profits from the shade cast by the 
latter. | 

As a rule, limited numbers of definite species are the most potent, 
and, like absolute monarchs, can hold sway over the whole area; 
while other species, though possibly present in far greater numbers 
‘than these, are subordinate or even dependent on them. This is 
the case where subordinate species only flourish in the shade or 
among the fallen fragments of dominant species. Such is obviously 
the relationship between trees and many plants growing on the 
ground of high forest, such as mosses, fungi, and other saprophytes, 
ferns, Oxalis Acetosella, and their associates. In this case, then, 
there is a commensalism in which individuals feed at the same table 
but on different fare. An additional factor steps in when species 
do not absorb their nutriment at the same season of the year. Many 
spring plants—for instance, Galanthus nivalis, Corydalis solida, and 
C. cava—have withered before the summer plants commence properly 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 181 


to develop. Certain species of animals are likewise confined to cer- 
tain plant-communities. But one and the same tall plant may, in 
different places or soils, have different species of lowly plants as com- 
panions; the companion plants of high beech forests depend, for 
instance, upon climate and upon the nature of the forest soil; Pinus 
nigra, according to von Beck, can maintain under it in the different 
parts of Europe a Pontic, a central European, or a Baltic vegetation. 

There are certain points of resemblance between communities of 
plants and those of human beings or animals; one of these is the 
competition for food which takes place between similar individuals 
and causes the weaker to be more or less suppressed. But far greater 
are the distinctions. The plant-community is the lowest form; it is 
merely a congregation of units, among which there is no co-operation 
for the common weal, but rather a ceaseless struggle of all against all. 
Only in a loose sense can we speak of certain individuals protecting 
others, as for example, when the outermost and most exposed indi- 
viduals of scrub serve to shelter from the wind others, which conse- 
quently become taller and finer; for they do not afford protection 
from any special motive, such as is met with in some animal com- 
munities, nor are they in any way specially adapted to act as guardians 
against a common foe. In the plant-community egoism reigns 
supreme. The plant-community kas no higher units or personages 
in the sense employed in connection with human communities, which 
have their own organizations and their members co-operating, as 
prescribed by law, for the common good. In plant-communities 
there is, it is true, often (or always) a certain natural dependence or 
reciprocal influence of many species upon one another; they give rise 


cat 


to definite organized units of a higher order; but there is no thorough _™ 


or organized division of labor such as is met with in human and 
animal communities, where certain individuals or groups of individuals 
work as organs, in the wide sense of the term, for the benefit of the 
whole community. | 

Woodhead has suggested the term complementary association to 
denote a community of species that live together in harmony, because 
their rhizomes occupy different depths in the soil; for example, he 
described an “association” in which Holcus mollis is the “surface 
plant,”’ Pteris aquilina has deeper-seated rhizomes, and Scilla festalis 
buries its bulbs at the greatest depth. The photophilous parts of 


182 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


these plants are ‘‘seasonably complementary.” The opposite 
extreme is provided by competitive associations, composed of species 


.. that are battling with each other. 


2. Ant Society? 


There is certainly a striking parallelism between the development 
of human and ant societies. Some anthropologists, like Topinard, 
distinguish in the development of human societies six different types 
or stages, designated as the hunting, pastoral, agricultural, commer- 
cial, industrial, and intellectual. The ants show stages corresponding 
to the first three of these, as Lubbock has remarked. 


: Some species, such as Formica fusca, live principally on the produce of 

the chase; for though they feed partially on the honey-dew of aphids, they 
have not domesticated these insects. These ants probably retain the 
habits once common to all ants. They resemble the lower races of men, 
who subsist mainly by hunting. Like them they frequent woods and 
wilds, live in comparatively small communities, as the instincts of collec- 
tive action are but little developed among them. ‘They hunt singly, and 
their battles are single combats, like those of Homeric heroes. Such 
species as Lasius flavus represent a distinctly higher type of social life; 
they show more skill in architecture, may literally be said to have domesti- 
cated certain species of aphids, and may be compared to the pastoral stage 
of human progress—to the races which live on the products of their flocks 
and herds. Their communities are more numerous; they act much more 
in concert; their battles are not mere single combats, but they know how 
to act in combination. I am disposed to hazard the conjecture that they 
will gradually exterminate the mere hunting species, just as savages dis- 
appear before more advanced races. Lastly, the agricultural nations may 
be compared with the harvesting ants. 


Granting the resemblances above mentioned between ant and 
human societies, there are nevertheless three far-reaching differences 
between insect and human organization and development to be con- 
stantly borne in mind: 

a) Ant societies are societies of females. The males really take 
no part in the colonial activities, and in most species are present in 
the nest only for the brief period requisite to secure the impregnation - 


t Adapted from William M. Wheeler, Ants, Their Structure, Development, and 
Behavior, pp. 5-7. (Columbia University Press, 1910.) 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 183 


vu 


of the young queens. The males take no part in building, provision- 
ing, or guarding the nest or in feeding the workers or the brood. They 
are in every sense the sexus sequior. Hence the ants resemble cer- 
tain mythical human societies like the Amazons, but unlike these, 
all their activities center in the multiplication and care of the coming 
generations. 

b) In human society, apart from the functions depending on 
sexual dimorphism, and barring individual differences and deficiencies 
which can be partially or wholly suppressed, equalized, or augmented 
by an elaborate system of education, all individuals have the same 
natural endowment. Each normal individual retains its various 
physiological and psychological needs and powers intact, not neces- 
sarily sacrificing any of them for the good of the community. In 
ants, however, the female individuals, of which the society properly 
consists, are not all alike but often very different, both in their struc- 
ture (polymorphism) and in their activities (physiological division of 
labor). Each member is visibly predestined to certain social activi- 
ties to the exclusion of others, not as a man through the education 
of some endowment common to all the members of the society, but 
through the exigencies of structure, fixed at the time of hatching, i.e., 
the moment the individual enters on its life as an active member of 
the community. 

c) Owing to this pre-established structure and the specialized 
functions which it implies, ants are able to live in a condition of 
anarchistic socialism, each individual instinctively fulfilling the 
demands of social life without “guide, overseer, or ruler,’’ as Solomon 
correctly observed, but not without the imitation and suggestion 
involved in an appreciation of the activities of its fellows. 

An ant society, therefore, may be regarded as little more than an 
expanded family, the members of which co-operate for the purpose of 
still further expanding the family and detaching portions of itself to 
found otherfamilies of the samekind. Thereis thus a striking analogy, 
which has not escaped the philosophical biologist, between the ant 
colony and the cell colony which constitutes the body of a Metazoan 
animal; and many of the laws that control the cellular origin, develop- 
ment, growth, reproduction, and decay of the individual Metazoan, are 
seen to hold good also of the ant society regarded as an individual of a 
higher order. As in the case of the individual animal, no further pur- 
pose of the colony can be detected than that of maintaining itself in 


184 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the face of a constantly changing environment till it is able to repro- 
duce other colonies of a like constitution. The queen-mother of the 
ant colony displays the generalized potentialities of all the individuals, 
just as the Metazoan egg contains in potentia all the other cells of 
the body. And, continuing the analogy, we may say that since the 
different castes of the ant colony are morphologically specialized for 
the performance of different functions, they are truly comparable 
with the differentiated tissues of the Metazoan body. 


C. HUMAN SOCIETY 
1. Social Life! 


The most notable distinction between living and inanimate beings 
is that the former maintain themselves by renewal. A stone when 
struck resists. If its resistance is greater than the force of the blow 
struck, it remains outwardly unchanged. Otherwise, it is shattered 
into smaller bits. Never does the stone attempt to react in such a 
way that it may maintain itself against the blow, much less so as to 
render the blow a contributing factor to its own continued action. 
While the living thing may easily be crushed by superior force, it 
none the less tries to turn the energies which act upon it into means of 
its own further existence. If it cannot do so, it does not just split 
into smaller pieces (at least in the higher forms of life), but loses its 
identity as a living thing. 

As long as it endures, it struggles to use surrounding energies in 
its own behalf. It uses light, air, moisture, and the material of soil. 
To say that it uses them is to say that it turns them into means 
of its own conservation. As long as it is growing, the energy 
it expends in thus turning the environment to account is more 
than compensated for by the return ‘it gets: it grows. Under- 
standing the word “control” in this sense, it may be said that a 
living being is one that subjugates and controls for its own con- 
tinued activity the energies that would otherwise use it up. Life is 
a self-renewing process through action upon the environment. Con- 
/ tinuity of life means continual readaptation of the environment to 
the needs of living organisms. 


* From John Dewey, Democracy and Education, pp. 1-7. (Published by The 
Macmillan Co., 1916. Reprinted by permission.) 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 185 


We have been speaking of life in its lowest terms—as a physical 


thing. But we use the word “‘life” to denote the whole range of © 
experience, individual and racial. When we see a book called the - 


Life of Lincoln we do not expect to find within its covers a treatise on 
physiology. We look for an account of social antecedents; a descrip- 
tion of early surroundings, of the conditions and occupation of the 
family; of the chief episodes in the development of character; of 
signal struggles and achievements; of the individual’s hopes, tastes, 
joys, and sufferings. In precisely similar fashion we speak of the 
life of a savage tribe, of the Athenian people, of the American nation. 
“Life”? covers customs, institutions, beliefs, victories and defeats, 
recreations and occupations. 

We employ the word “experience” in the same pregnant sense. 


And to it, as well as to life in the bare physiological sense, the principle — 


of continuity through renewal applies. With the renewal of physical 
existence goes, in the case of human beings, the re-creation of beliefs, 
ideals, hopes, happiness, misery, and practices. The continuity of 
any experience, through renewing of the social group, is a literal fact. 
Education, in its broadest sense, is the means of this social continuity 
of life. Every one of the constituent elements of a social group, in a 
modern city as in a savage tribe, is born immature, helpless, without 
language, beliefs, ideas, or social standards. Each individual, each 
unit who is the carrier of the life-experience of his group, in time 
passes away. Yet the life of the group goes on. 
Society exists through.a-process-of transmission, quite as much as , 


biological life. This transmission occurs by means of communication 


of habits of doing, thinking, and feeling from the older to the younger. 
Without this communication of ideals, hopes, expectations, standards, 
opinions from those members of society who are passing out of 
the group life to those who are coming into it, social life could not 
survive. | 

Society not only continues to exist by transmission, oy communica- 
tion, but it may fairly be said to exist in transmission, in communica- 
tion. ‘There is more than a verbal tie between the words common, 
community, and communication. Men live ina community in virtue 
of the things which they have in common; and communication is the 
way in which they come to possess things in common. What they 
must have in common in order to form a community or society are 


a 


186 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


| aims, beliefs, aspirations, knowledge—a common understanding—like- 
- mindedness, as the sociologists say. Such things cannot be passed 
physically from one to another, like bricks; they cannot be shared 
as persons would share a pie by dividing it into physical pieces. The 
communication which insures participation in a common under- 
standing is one which secures similar emotional and intellectual dis- 
positions—like ways of responding to expectations and requirements. 

Persons do not become a society by living in physical proximity 
any more than a man ceases to be socially influenced by being so 
many feet or miles. removed from others. A book or a letter may 
institute a more intimate association between human beings separated 
thousands of miles from each other than exists between dwellers 
under the same roof. Individuals do not even compose a social 
group because they all work for a common end. The parts of a 
machine work with a maximum of co-operativeness for a common 
result, but they do not form a community. If, however, they were |~ 
all cognizant of the common end and all interested in it so that they) — 
regulated their specific activity in view of it, then they would form a 
community. But this would involve communication. Each would 
have to know what the other was about and would have to have 
some way of keeping the other informed as to his own purpose and > 
progress. Consensus demands communications. ) 

We are thus compelled to recognize that within even the most 
social group there are many relations which are not as yet social. A 
large number of human relationships in any social group are still 
upon the machine-like plane. Individuals use one another so as to 
get desired results, without reference to the emotional and intellectual 
disposition and consent of those used. Such uses express physical 
superiority, or superiority of position, skill, technical ability, and 
command of tools, mechanical or fiscal. So far as the relations of 
parent and child, teacher and pupil, employer and employee, gover- 
nor and governed, remain upon this level, they form no true social 
group, no matter how closely their respective activities touch one 
another.. Giving and taking of orders modifies action and results, 
. but does not of itself effect a sharing of purposes, a communication 
of interests. 

Not only is social life identical with communication, but all 
communication (and hence all genuine social life) is educative. To 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 187 


be a recipient of a communication is to have an enlarged and changed 
experience. One shares in what another has thought and felt, and 
in so far, meagerly or amply, has his own attitude modified. Nor is 
the one who communicates left unaffected. Try the experiment of 
communicating, with fulness and accuracy, some experience to 
another, especially if it be somewhat complicated, and you will find 
your own attitude toward your experience changing; otherwise you 
resort to expletives and ejaculations. The experience has to be 
formulated in order to be communicated. To formulate requires 
getting outside of it, seeing it as another would see it, considering 
what points of contact it has with the life of another so that it may ° 
be got into such form that he can appreciate its meaning. Except in - 
dealing with commonplaces and catch phrases one has to assimilate, 
imaginatively, something of another’s experience in order to tell him 
intelligently of one’s own experience. All communication is like art. 
It may fairly be said, therefore, that any social arrangement that 
remains vitally social, or vitally shared, is educative to those who 
participate in it. Only when it becomes cast in a mold and runs in 
a routine way does it lose its educative power. 

In final account, then, not only does social life demand teaching 
and learning for its own permanence, but the very process of living 
together educates. It enlarges and enlightens experience; it stimu- 
lates and enriches imagination; it creates responsibility for accuracy 
and vividness of statement and thought. A man really living alone 
(alone mentally as well as physically) would have little or no occasion 
to reflect upon his past experience to extract its net meaning. The 
inequality of achievement between the mature and the immature 
not only necessitates teaching the young, but the necessity of this 
teaching gives an immense stimulus to reducing experience to that 
order and form which will render it most easily communicable and 
hence most usable. 


2. Behavior and Conduct! 


The word “behavior” is commonly used in an interesting variety 
of ways. We speak of the behavior of ships at sea, of soldiers in 
battle, and of little boys in Sunday school. 


™From Robert E. Park, Principles of Human Behavior, pp. 1-9. (The Zalaz 
Corporation, 1915.) 


188 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


“The geologist,” as Lloyd Morgan remarks, “tells us that a 
glacier behaves in many respects like a river, and discusses how the 
crust of the earth behaves under the stresses to which it is subjected. 
Weatherwise people comment on the behavior of the mercury in the 
barometer as a storm approaches. When Mary, the nurse maid, 
returns with the little Miss Smiths from Master Brown’s birthday 
party, she is narrowly questioned as to their behavior.” 

In short, the word is familiar both to science and to common 
sense, and is applied with equal propriety to the actions of physical 
objects and to the manners of men. ‘The abstract sciences, quite as 
much as the concrete and descriptive, are equally concerned with 
‘behavior. ‘The chemist and the physicist often speak of the behavior 
of the atoms and the molecules, or of that of gas under changing 
conditions of temperature and pressure.’”’ The fact is that every 
science is everywhere seeking to describe and explain the movements, 
changes, and reactions, that is to say the behavior, of some portion 
of the world about us. Indeed, wherever we consciously set ourselves 
to observe and reflect upon the changes going on about us, it is always 
behavior that we are interested in. Science is simply a little more 
persistent in its curiosity and a little nicer and more exact in its 
observation than common sense. And this disposition to observe, 
to take a disinterested view of things, is, by the way, one of the char- 
~ acteristics of human nature which distinguishes it from the nature of 
all other animals. 

Since every science has to do with some form of behavior, the first 
question that arises is this: What do we mean by behavior in human 
beings as distinguished from that in other animals? What is there 
distinctive about the actions of human beings that marks them off 
and distinguishes them from the actions of animals and plants with 
which human beings have so much in common ? 

The problem is the more difficult because, in some one or other 
of its aspects, human behavior involves processes which are charac- 
teristic of almost every form of nature. We sometimes speak, for 
example, of the human machine. Indeed, from one point of view 
human beings may be regarded as psycho-physical mechanisms for 
carrying on the vital processes of nutrition, reproduction, and move- 
ment. The human body is, in fact, an immensely complicated 
machine, whose operations involve an enormous number of chemical 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 189 


and physical reactions, all of which may be regarded as forms of ——~ 
human behavior. 

Human beings are, however, not wholly or merely machines; 
they are living organisms and as such share with the plants and the 
lower animals certain forms of behavior which it has not thus far, at 
any rate, been possible to reduce to the exact and lucid formulas of 
either chemistry or physics. 

Human beings are, however, not merely organisms: they are the 
home and the habitat of minuter organisms. The human body is, 
in a certain sense, an organization—a sort of social organization—of 
the minute and simple organisms of which it is composed, namely, 
the cells, each of which has its own characteristic mode of behavior.~~ 
In fact, the life of human beings, just as the life of all other creatures 
above the simple unicellular organisms, may be said to consist of 
the corporate life of the smaller organisms of which it is composed. 
In human beings, as in some great city, the division of labor among 
+the minuter organisms has been carried further, the interdependence 
of the individual parts is more complete, and the corporate life of 
the whole more complex. 

It is not strange, therefore, that Lloyd Morgan begins his studies 
of animal behavior by a description of the behavior of the cells and 
Thorndike in his volume, The Original Nature of Man, is led to the 
conclusion that the original tendencies of man have their basis in the 
neurones, or nerve cells, and in the changes which these cells and 
their ancestors have undergone, as a result of the necessity of carrying 
on common and corporate existences as integral parts of the human 
organism. All acquired characteristics of men, everything that they 
learn, is due to mutual stimulations and associations of the neurones, 
just as sociologists are now disposed to explain civilization and 
progress as phenomena due to the interaction and association of 
human beings, rather than to any fundamental changes in human 
nature itself. In other words, the difference between a savage and a 
civilized man is not due to any fundamental differences in their brain 
cells but to the connections and mutual stimulations which are estab- 
lished by experience and education between those cells. In the 
savage those possibilities are not absent but latent. In the same 
way the difference between the civilization of Central Africa and that 
of Western Europe is due, not to the difference in native abilities of 


Igo INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the individuals and the peoples who have created them, but rather 
to the form which the association and interaction between those 
individuals and groups of individuals has taken. We sometimes 
attribute the difference in culture which we meet among races to the 
climate and physical conditions generally, but, in the long run, the 
difference is determined by the way in which climate and physical 
condition determine the contacts and communications of individuals. 

So, too, in the corporate life of the individual man it is the asso- 
ciation of the nerve cells, their lines of connection and communica- 
tion, that is responsible for the most of the differences between the 
ignorant and the educated, the savage and civilized man. The 
neurone, however, is a little unicellular animal, like the amoeba or 
the paramecium. Its life consists of: (1) eating, (2) excreting waste 
products, (3) growing, (4) being sensitive, and (5) movement, and, 
as Thorndike expresses it: ‘‘The safest provisional hypothesis about 
the action of the neurones singly is that they retain the modes of 
behavior common to unicellular animals, so far as consistent with the 
special conditions of their life as an element of man’s nervous system.” 

In the widest sense of the term, behavior may be said to include 
all the chemical and physical changes that go on inside the organism, 
as well as every response to stimulus either from within or from 
without the organism. In recent studies of animal behavior, how- 
ever, the word has acquired a special and technical meaning in which 
it is applied exclusively to those actions that have been, or may be, 
modified by conscious experience. What the animal does in its 
efforts to find food is behavior, but the processes of ,digestion are 
relegated to another field of observation, namely, physiology. 

In all the forms of behavior thus far referred to, human and 
animal nature are not fundamentally distinguished. ‘There are, 
however, ways of acting that are peculiar to human nature, forms of 
behavior that man does not share with the lower animals. One thing . 
which seems to distinguish man from the brute is self-consciousness. 
One of the consequences of intercourse, as it exists among human™ 
beings, is that they are led to reflect upon their own impulses and 
motives for action, to set up standards by which they seek to govern 
themselves. The clock issucha standard. We all know from experi- 
ence that time moves more slowly on dull days, when there is nothing 
doing, than in moments of excitement. On the other hand, when 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 19l 


life is active and stirring, time flies. The clock standardizes our 
subjective tempos and we control ourselves by the clock. An animal 
never looks at the clock and this is typical of the different ways in 
which human beings and animals behave. 


Human beings, so far as we have yet been able to learn, are the 


only.creatures who habitually pass judgment upon their own actions, 
or who think of them as right or wrong. When these thoughts about 
our actions or the actions of others get themselves formulated and 
expressed they react back upon and control us. That is one reason 
we hang mottoes on the wall. That is why one sees on the desk of 
a busy man the legend “Do it now!” The brutes do not know these 
devices. They do not need them perhaps. They have no aim in 
life. They do not work. 

What distinguishes the action of men from animals may best be 


expressed in the word “‘conduct.”’ Conduct as it is ordinarily used — 


is applied to actions which may be regarded as right or wrong, moral 
orimmoral. As such it is hardly a descriptive term since there does 
not seem to be any distinctive mark about the actions which men 
have at different times and places called moral or immoral. I have 
used it here to distinguish the sort of behavior which may be regarded 


as distinctively and exclusively human, namely, that which is self-_ 


conscious and personal. In this sense blushing may be regarded as 
a form of conduct, quite as much as the manufacture of tools, trade 
and barter, conversation or prayer. 

No doubt all these activities have their beginnings in, and are 
founded upon, forms of behavior of which we may find the rudiments 
in the lower animals. But there is in all distinctively human activities 
a conventional, one might almost say a contractual, element which is 
absent in action of other animals. Human actions are more often 
like or appear to be to others. This sense and understanding gets 
itself embodied in some custom or ceremonial observance. In this 
form it is transmitted from generation to generation, becomes an 
object of sentimental respect, gets itself embodied in definite formulas, 
is an object not only of respect and reverence but of reflection and 
speculation as well. As such it constitutes the mores, or moral 
customs, of a group and is no longer to be regarded as an individual 
possession. 


192 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


3. Instinct and Character? 


In no part of the world, and at no period of time, do we find the 
behavior of men left to unchartered freedom. Everywhere human 
life is in a measure organized and directed by customs, laws, beliefs, 
ideals, which shape its ends and guide its activities. As this guidance 
of life by rule is universal in human society, so upon the whole it is 
peculiar to humanity. There is no reason to think that any animal 
except man can enunciate or apply general rules of conduct. Never- 
theless, there is not wanting something that we can call an organiza- 
tion of life in the animal world. How much of intelligence underlies 
the social life of the higher animals is indeed extremely hard to 
determine. In the aid which they often render to one another, in 
their combined hunting, in their play, in the use of warning cries, and 
the employment of “sentinels,”’ which is so frequent among birds 
and mammals, it would appear at first sight that a considerable 
measure of mutual understanding is implied, that we find at least an 
analogue to human custom, to the assignment of functions, the 
division of labor, which mutual reliance renders possible. How far 
the analogy may be pressed, and whether terms like “custom” and 
“mutual understanding,” drawn from human experience, are rightly 
applicable to animal societies, are questions on which we shall touch 
presently. Let us observe first that as we descend the animal scale 
the sphere of ‘ntelligent activity is gradually narrowed down, and yet 
behavior is still regulated. ‘The lowest organisms have their definite 
methods of action under given conditions. ‘The amoeba shrinks into 
itself at a touch, withdraws the pseudopodium that is roughly handled, 
or makes its way round the small object which will serve it as food. 
Given the conditions, it acts in the way best suited to avoid danger 
or to secure nourishment. We are a long way from the intelligent 
regulation of conduct by a general principle, but we still find action 
adapted to the requirements of organic life. 

When we come to human society we find the basis for a social 
organization of life already laid in the animal nature of man. Like 
others of the higher animals, man is a gregarious beast. His interests 
lie in his relations to his fellows, in his love for wife and children, in 
his companionship, possibly in his rivalry and striving with his fellow- 


™ Adapted from L. T. Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution, pp. 1-2, to-12. (Henry 
Holt & Co., 1915.) 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 193 


men. His loves and hates, his joys and sorrows, his pride, his wrath, 
his gentleness, his boldness, his timidity—all these permanent quali- 
ties, which run through humanity and vary only in degree, belong 
to his inherited structure. Broadly speaking, they are of the nature 
of instincts, but instincts which have become highly plastic in their 
mode of operation and which need the stimulus of experience to call 
them forth and give them definite shape. 

The mechanical methods of reaction which are so prominent low 
down in the animal scale fill quite a minor place in human life. The 
ordinary operations of the body, indeed, go upon their way mechan- 
ically enough. In walking or in running, in saving ourselves from a 
fall, in coughing, sneezing, or swallowing, we react as mechanically 
as do the lower animals; but in the distinctly human modes of 
behavior, the place taken by the inherited structure is very different. 
Hunger and thirst no doubt are of the nature of instincts, but the 
methods of satisfying hunger and thirst are acquired by experience or 
by teaching. Love and the whole family life have an instinctive basis, 
that is to say, they rest upon tendencies inherited with the brain and 
nerve structure; but everything that has to do with the satisfaction of 
these impulses is determined by the experience of the individual, the 
laws and customs of the society in which he lives, the woman whom 
he meets, the accidents of their intercourse, and so forth. Instinct, 
already plastic and modifiable in the higher animals, becomes in man 
a basis of character which determines how he will take his experience, 
but without experience is a mere blank form upon which nothing is 
yet written. 

For example, it is an ingrained tendency of average human 
nature to be moved by the opinion of our neighbors. This is a power- 
ful motive in conduct, but the kind of conduct to which it will incite 
clearly depends on the kind of thing that our neighbors approve. 
In some parts of the world ambition for renown will prompt a man 
to lie in wait for a woman or child in order to add a fresh skull to 
his collection. In other parts he may be urged by similar motives 
to pursue a science or paint a picture. In all these cases the same 
hereditary or instinctive element is at work, that quality of character 
which makes a man respond sensitively to the feelings which others 
manifest toward him. But the kind of conduct which this sensitive- 
ness may dictate depends wholly on the social environment in which 


104 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the man finds himself. Similarly it is, as the ordinary phrase quite 
justly puts it, “in human nature” to stand up for one’s rights. A 
man will strive, that is, to secure that which he has counted on as 
his due. But as to what he counts upon, as to the actual treatment 
which he expects under given circumstances, his views are determined 
by the ‘‘custom of the country,” by what he sees others insisting on 
and obtaining, by what has been promised him, and so forth. Even 
such an emotion as sexual jealousy, which seems deeply rooted in 
the animal nature, is largely limited in its exercise and determined 
in the form it takes by custom. A hospitable savage, who will lend 
his wife to a guest, would kill her for acting in the same way on her 
own motion. In the one case he exercises his rights of proprietorship; 
in the other, she transgresses them. It is the maintenance of a claim 
which jealousy concerns itself with, and the standard determining 
the claim is the custom of the country. 

In human society, then, the conditions regulating conduct are 
‘rom the first greatly modified. Instinct, becoming vague and more 
general, has evolved into “character,” while the intelligence finds 
itself confronted with customs to which it has to accommodate con- 
duct. But how does custom arise? Let us first consider what 
custom is. It is not merely a habit of action; but it implies also a 
judgment upon action, and a judgment stated in general and imper- 
sonal terms. It~would seem to imply a bystander or third party. 
If A hits B, B probably hits back. It is his “habit” so to do. But 
if C, looking on, pronounces that it was or was not a fair blow, he will 
probably appeal to the “custom” of the country—the traditional 
rules of fighting, for instance—as the ground of his judgment. That 
is, he will lay down a rule which is general in the sense that it would 
apply to other individuals under similar conditions, and by it he 
will, as an impartial third person, appraise the conduct of the con- 
tending parties. The formation of such rules, resting as it does on 
the power of framing and applying general conceptions, is the prime 
differentia of human morality from animal behavior. The fact 
that they arise and are handed on from generation to generation 
makes social tradition at once the dominating factor in the regulation 
of human conduct. Without such rules we can scarcely conceive 
society to exist, since it is only through the general conformity to 
custom that men can understand each other, that each can know 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 195 


how the other will act under given circumstances, and without this 
amount of understanding the reciprocity, which is the vital principle 
of society, disappears. 


4. Collective Representation and Intellectual Life" 

Logical thought is made up of concepts. Seeking how society 
can have played a rdle in the genesis of logical thought thus reduces 
itself to seeking how it can have taken a part in the formation of 
concepts. : 

The concept is opposed to sensual representations of every order 
—sensations, perceptions, or images—by the following properties. 

Sensual representations are in a perpetual flux; they come after 
each other like the waves of a river, and even during the time that 
they last they do not remain the same thing. Each of them is an 
integral part of the precise instant when it takes place. We are 
never sure of again finding a perception such as we experienced it 
the first time; for if the thing perceived has not changed, it is we who! 
are no longer the same. On the contrary, the concept is, as it were, 
outside of time and change; it is in the depths below all this agitation; 
it might be said that it is in a different portion of the mind, which is 
serener and calmer. It does not move of itself, by an internal and 
spontaneous evolution, but, on the contrary, it resists change. It is 
a manner of thinking that, at every moment of time, is fixed and 
crystallized. In so far as it is what it ought to be, it is immutable. 
If it changes, it is not because it is its nature to do so, but because 
we have discovered some imperfection in it; it is because it had to 
be rectified. The system of concepts with which we think in every- 
day life is that expressed by the vocabulary of our mother-tongue; 
for every word translates a concept. Now language is something 
fixed; it changes but very slowly, and consequently it is the same 
with the conceptual system which it expresses. The scholar finds 
himself in the same situation in regard to the special terminology 
employed by the science to which he has consecrated himself, and 
hence in regard to the special scheme of concepts to which this 
terminology corresponds. It is true that he can make innovations, 
but these are always a sort of violence done to the established ways 
of thinking. 


t Adapted from Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, 
pp. 432-37. (Allen & Unwin, tgr5.) 


196 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


And at the same time that it is relatively immutable, the concept 
is universal, or at least capable of becoming so. A concept is not my 
concept; I hold it in common with other men, or, in any case, can 
communicate it to them. It is impossible for me to make a sensation 
pass from my consciousness into that of another; it holds closely to 
my organism and personality and cannot be detached from them. 
All that I can do is to invite others to place themselves before the 
same object as myself and to leave themselves to its action. On 
the other hand, conversation and all intellectual communication 
between men is an exchange of concepts. The concept is an essen- 
tially impersonal representation; it is through it ‘hat human intelli- 
gences communicate. 

The nature of the concept, thus defined, bespeaks its origin. If 
it is common to all, it is the work of the community. Since it bears 
the mark of no particular mind, it is clear that it was elaborated by 
a unique intelligence, where all others meet each other, and after a 
fashion, come to nourish themselves. If it has more stability than 
sensations or images, it is because the collective representations are 
more stable than the individual ones; for while an individual is con- 
scious even of the slight changes which take place in his environment, 
only events of a greater gravity can succeed in affecting the mental 
status of a society. Every time that we are in the presence of a type 
of thought or action which is imposed uniformly upon particular 
wills or intelligences, this pressure exercised over the individual 
betrays the intervention of the group. Also, as we have already 
said, the concepts with which we ordinarily think are those of our 
vocabulary. Now it is unquestionable that language, and conse- 
quently the system of concepts which it translates, is the product of 
collective elaboration. What it expresses is the manner in which 
society as a whole represents the facts of experience. The ideas 
which correspond to the diverse elements of language are thus collec- 
tive representations. 

Even their contents bear witness to the same fact. In fact, there 
are scarcely any words among those which we usually employ whose 
meaning does not pass, to a greater or less extent, the limits of our 
personal experience. Very frequently a term expresses things which 
we have never perceived or experiences which we have never 
had or of which we have never been the witnesses. Even when 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 1Q7 


we know some of the objects which it concerns, it is only as 
particular examples that they serve to illustrate the idea which 
they would never have been able to form by themselves. Thus 
there is a great deal of knowledge condensed in the word which I 
never collected, and which is not individual; it even surpasses me 
to such an extent that I cannot even completely appropriate all its 
results. Which of us knows all the words of the language he speaks 
and the entire signification of each ? 

This remark enables us to determine the sense in which we mean 
to say that concepts are collective representations. If they belong 
to a whole social group, it is not because they represent the average 
of the corresponding individual representations; for in that case 
they would be poorer than the latter in intellectual content, while, as 
a matter of fact, they contain much that surpasses the knowledge of 
the average individual. They are not abstractions which have a 
reality only in particular consciousnesses, but they are as concrete 
representations as an individual could form of his own personal 
environment; they correspond to the way in which this very special 
being, society, considers the things of its own proper experience. 
If, as a matter of fact, the concepts are nearly always general ideas, 
and if they express categories and classes rather than particular 
objects, it is because the unique and variable characteristics of things 
interest society but rarely; because of its very extent, it can scarcely 
be affected by more than their general and permanent qualities. 
Therefore it is to this aspect of affairs that it gives its attention: 
it is a part of its nature to see things in large and under the aspect 
which they ordinarily have. But this generality is not necessary for 
them, and, in any case, even when these representations have the 
generic character which they ordinarily have, they are the work of 
society and are enriched by its experience. 

The collective consciousness is the highest form of the psychic 
life, since it is the consciousness of the consciousnesses. Being placed 
outside of and above individual and local contingencies, it sees things 
only in their permanent and essential aspects, which it crystallizes 
into communicable ideas. At the same time that it sees from above, 
it sees farther; at every moment of time, it embraces all known 
reality; that is why it alone can furnish the mind with the molds 
which are applicable to the totality of things and which make it 


198 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


possible to think of them. It does not create these molds artificially; 
it finds them within itself; it does nothing but become conscious of 
them. They translate the ways of being which are found in all the 
stages of reality but which appear in their full clarity only at the sum- 
mit, because the extreme complexity of the psychic life which passes 
there necessitates a greater development of consciousness. Collective 
representations also contain subjective elements, and these must be 
progressively rooted out if we are to approach reality more closely. 
But howsoever crude these may have been at the beginning, the 
fact remains that with them the germ of a new mentality was given, 
to which the individual could never have raised himself by his own 
efforts; by them the way was opened to a stable, impersonal and 
organized thought which then had nothing to do except to develop 
its nature. 


D. THE SOCIAL GROUP 
1. Definition of the Group' 


The term “group” serves as a convenient sociological designation 
for any number of people, larger or smaller, between whom such 
relations are discovered that they must be thought of together. 
The “group” is the most general and colorless term used in sociology 
for combinations of persons. A family, a mob, a picnic party, a 
trade union, a city precinct, a corporation, a state, a nation, the 
civilized or the uncivilized population of the world, may be treated 
as a group. Thus a “group” for sociology is a number of persons 
whose relations to each other are sufficiently impressive to demand 
attention. ‘The term is merely a commonplace tool. It contains 
no mystery. It is only a handle with which to grasp the innumerable 
varieties of arrangements into which people are drawn by their 
variations of interest. The universal condition of association may be 
expressed in the same commonplace way: people always live in 
groups, and the same persons are likely to be members of many 
groups. | 

Individuals nowhere live in utter isolation. There is no such thing 
as a social vacuum. ‘The few Robinson Crusoes are not exceptions to 
the rule. If they are, they are like the Irishman’s horse. The 


*From Albion W. Small, General Sociology, pp. 495-97. (The University of 
Chicage Press, 1905.) 





SO THE GROUP 199 
moment they begin to get adjusted to the exceptional condition, they 
die. Actual persons always live and move and have their being in 
groups. ‘These groups are more or less complex, more or less con- 
tinuous, more or less rigid in character. The destinies of human 
beings are always bound up with the fate of the groups of which 
they are members. While the individuals are the real existences, 
and the groups are only relationships of individuals, yet to all 
intents and purposes the groups which people form are just as 
distinct and efficient molders of the lives of individuals as though 
they were entities that had existence entirely independent of the 
individuals. 

The college fraternity or the college class, for instance, would be 
only a name, and presently not even that, if each of its members 
should withdraw. It is the members themselves, and not something 
outside of themselves. Yet to A, B, or C the fraternity or the class 
might as well be a river or a mountain by tle side of which he stands, 
and which he is helpless to remove. He may modify it somewhat. 
He is surely modified by it somewhat; and the same is true of all 
the other groups in which A, B, or C belong. Toa very considerable 
extent the question, Why does A, B, or C do so and so? is equivalent 
to the question, What are the peculiarities of the group to which 
A, B, or C belongs? It would never occur to A, B, or C to skulk 
from shadow to shadow of a night, with paint-pot and brush in hand, 
and to smear Arabic numerals of bill-poster size on sidewalk or 
buildings, if “class spirit” did not add stimulus to individual bent. 
Neither A, B, nor C would go out of his way to flatter and cajole a 
Freshman, if membership in a fraternity did not make a student 
something different from an individual. These are merely familiar 
cases which follow a universal law. | 

In effect, the groups to which we belong might be as separate 
and independent of us as the streets and buildings of a city are from 
the population. If the inhabitants should migrate in a body, the 
streets and buildings would remain. This is not true of human 
groups, but their reaction upon the persons who compose them is no 
less real and evident. We are in large part what our social set, our 
church, our political party, our business and professional circles are. 
This has always been the case from the beginning of the world, and 
will always be the case. To understand what society is, either in its 


200 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


larger or its smaller parts, and why it is so, and how far it is possible 
to make it different, we must invariably explain groups on the one 
hand, no less than individuals on the other. There is a striking 
illustration in Chicago at present (summer, 1905). Within a short 
time a certain man has made a complete change in his group-relations. 
He was one of the most influential trade-union leaders in the city. He 
has now become the executive officer of an association of employers. 
In the elements that are not determined by his. group-relationships 
he is the same man that he was before. Those are precisely the 
elements, however, that may be canceled out of the social problem. 
All the elements in his personal equation that give him a distinct 
meaning in the life of the city are given to him by his membership 
in the one group or the other. Till yesterday he gave all his strength 
to organizing labor against capital. Now he gives all his strength to 
the service of capital against labor. 

Whatever social problem we confront, whatever persons come 
into our field of view, the first questions involved will always be: 
To what groups do these persons belong? What are the interests of 
these groups? What sort of means do the groups use to promote 
their interests? How strong are these groups, as compared with 
groups that have conflicting interests? ‘These questions go to one 
tap root of all social interpretation, whether in the case of historical 
events far in the past, or of the most practical problems of our own 
neighborhood. 


2. The Unity of the Social Group' 


It has long been a cardinal problem in sociology to determine just 
how to conceive in objective terms so very real and palpable a thing 
as the continuity and persistence of social groups. Looked at as a 
physical object society appears to be made up of mobile and inde 
pendent units. The problem is to understand the nature of the 
bonds that bind these independent units together-and how these 
connections are maintained and transmitted. 

Conceived of in its lowest terms the unity of the social group 
may be compared to that of the plant communities. In these com- 

tFrom R. E. Park, ‘Education in Its Relation to the Conflict and Fusion 


of Cultures,” in the Publications of the American Sociological Society, VIII 
(1y18), 38-40. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 201 


munities, the relation between the individual species which compose 
them seems at first wholly fortuitous and external. Co-operation and 
community, so far as it exists, consists merely in the fact that within 
a given geographical area, certain species come together merely 
because each happens to provide by its presence an environment in 
which the life of the other is easier, more secure, than if they lived 
in isolation. It seems to be a fact, however, that this communal 
life of the associated plants fulfils, as in other forms of life, a typical 
series of changes which correspond to growth, decay and death. 
The plant community comes into existence, matures, grows old, 
and eventually dies. In doing this, however, it provides by its own 
death an environment in which another form of community finds its 
natural habitat. Each community thus precedes and prepares the way 
for its successor. Under such circumstances the succession of the indi- 
vidual communities itself assumes the character of a life-process. 

In the case of the animal and human societies we have ali these’ 
conditions and forces and something more. ‘The individuals asso- 
ciated in an animal community not only provide, each for the other, 
a physical environment in which all may live, but the members of 
the community are organically pre-adapted to one another in ways 
which are not characteristic of the members of a plant community. 
As a consequence, the relations between the members of the animal 
community assume a much more organic character. It is, in fact, a 
characteristic of animal society that the members of a social group 
are organically adapted to one another and therefore the organization 
of animal society is almost wholly transmitted by physical inheritance. 

In the case of human societies we discover not merely organically 
inherited adaptation, which characterizes animal societies, but, in 
addition, a great body of habits and accommodations which are trans- 
mitted in the form of social inheritance. Something that corresponds 
to social tradition exists, to be sure, in animal societies. Animals 
learn by imitation from one another, and there is evidence that this 
social tradition varies with changes in environment. In man, how- 
ever, association is based on something more than habits or instinct. 
In human society, largely as a result of language, there exists a con- 
scious community of purpose. We have not merely folkways, which 
by an extension of that term might be attributed to animals, but we 
have mores and formal standards of conduct. 


202 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In a recent notable volume on education, John Dewey has formu- 
lated a definition of the educational process which he identifies with 
the process by which the social tradition of human society is trans- 
mitted. Education, he says in effect, is a self-renewing process, a 
process in which and through which the social organism lives. 

With the renewal of physical existence goes, in the case of human 
beings, the re-creation of beliefs, ideals, hopes, happiness, misery and 
practices. The continuity of experience, through renewal of the social 
group, is a literal fact. Education, in its broadest sense, is the means of 
this social continuity of life. 

Under ordinary circumstances the transmission of the social tradi- 
tion is from the parents to the children. Children are born into 
the society and take over its customs, habits, and standards of life 
sirnpiy, naturally, and without conflict. But it will at once occur to 
anyone that the physical life of society is not always continued and 
maintained in this natural way, i.e., by the succession of parents and 
children. New societies are formed by conquest and by the imposi- : 
tion of one people upon another. In such cases there arises a conflict 
of cultures, and as a result the process of fusion takes place slowly 
and is frequently not complete. New societies are frequently formed 
by colonization, in which case new cultures are grafted on to older 
ones. The work of missionary societies is essentially one of coloniza- 
tion in this sense. Finally we have societies growing up, as in the 
United States, by immigration. These immigrants, coming as they 
do from all parts of the world, bring with them fragments of divergent 
cultures. Here again the process of assimilation is slow, often pain- 
ful, not always complete. 


3. Types of Social Groups? 

Between the two extreme poles—the crowd and the state (nation) 
—between these extreme links of the chain of human association, 
what are the other intermediate groups, and what are their distinctive 
characteristics ? 

Gustave Le Bon thus classifies the different types of crowds 
(aggregations): - 

A. Heterogeneous crowds 


1. Anonymous (street crowds, for example) 
2. Not anonymous (parliamentary assemblies, for example) 


) ‘Translated from S. Sighele, Psychologie des Sectes, pp. 42-51. (M. Giard 
et Cie., 18098.) 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 203 


B. Homogeneous crowds 
1. Sects (political, religious, etc.) 
2. Castes (military, sacerdotal, etc.) 
3. Classes (bourgeois, working-men, etc.) 


This classification is open to criticism. First of all, it is inaccu- 
rate to give the name of crowd indiscriminately to every human 
group. Literally (from the etymological standpoint) this objection 
seems to me unanswerable. Tarde more exactly distinguishes 
between crowds, associations, and corporations. 

But we retain the generic term of “crowd” because it indicates 
the first stage of the social group which is the source of all the others, 
and because with these successive distinctions it does not lend itself 
to equivocal meaning. 

In the second place, it is difficult. to understand why Le Bon 
terms the sect a homogeneous crowd, while he classifies parliamentary 
assemblies among the heterogeneous crowds. ‘The members of a sect 
are usually far more different from one another in birth, education, 
profession, social status, than are generally the members of a political 
assembly. 

Turning from this criticism to note without analyzing hetero- 
geneous crowds, let us then proceed to determine the principal charac- 
teristics of the three large types of homogeneous crowds, the classes, 
the castes, the sects. 

The heterogeneous crowd is composed of tout le monde, of people 
like you, like me, like the first passer-by. Chance unites these indi- 
viduals physically, the occasion unites them psychologically; they do 
not know each other, and after the moment when they find themselves 
together, they may never see each other again. To use a metaphor, 
it is a psychological meteor, of the most unforeseen, ephemeral, and 
transitory kind. 

On this accidental and fortuitous foundation are formed here and 
there other crowds, always heterogeneous, but with a certain charac- 
ter of stability or, at least, of periodicity. The audience at a 
theater, the members of a club, of a literary or social gathering, 
constitute also a crowd but a different crowd from that of the street. 
The members of these groups know each other a little; they have, if 
not a common aim, at least a common custom. ‘They are neverthe- 
less “anonymous crowds,” as Le Bon calls them, because they do 
not have within themselves the nucleus of, organization. 


204 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Proceeding further, we find crowds still heterogeneous, but not so 
anonymous—juries, for example, and assemblies. These small 
crowds experience a new sentiment, unknown to anonymous crowds, 
that of responsibility which may at times give to their actions a 
different orientation. Then the parliamentary crowds are to be 
distinguished from the others because, as Tarde observes with his 
habitual penetration, they are double crowds: they represent a 
majority in conflict with one or more minorities, which safeguards 
them in most cases from unanimity, the most menacing danger 
which faces crowds. 

We come now to homogeneous crowds, of which the first type is 
the sect. Here are found again individuals differing in birth, in 
education, in profession, in social status, but united and, indeed, 
voluntarily cemented by an extremely strong bond, a common faith 
and ideal. Faith, religious, scientific, or political, rapidly creates a 
communion of sentiments capable of giving to those who possess it* 
a high degree of homogeneity and power. History records the deeds 
of the barbarians under the influence of Christianity, and the Araks 
transformed into a sect by Mahomet. Because of their sectarian 
organization, a prediction may be made of what the future holds in 
store for the socialists. 

The sect is a crowd, picked out and permanent; the crowd is a 
transitory sect which has not chosen its members. ‘The sect is a 
chronic kind of crowd; the crowd is an acute kind of sect. The 
crowd is composed of a multitude of grains of sand without cohesion; 
the sect is a block of marble which resists every effort. When a 
sentiment or an idea, having in itself a reason for existence, slips into 
the crowd, its members soon crystallize and form a sect. The sect 
is then the first crystallization of every doctrine. From the confused 
and amorphous state in which it manifests itself to the crowd, every 
idea is predestined to define itself in the more specific form of the 
sect, to become later a party, a school, or a church—scientific, political, 
or religious. 

Any faith, whether it be Islamism, Buddhism, Christianity, 
patriotism, socialism, anarchy, cannot but pass through this sec- 
tarian phase. It is the first step, the point where the human 
group in leaving the twilight zone of the anonymous and mobile 
crowd raises itself to a definition and to an integration which 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 205 


then may lead up to the highest and most perfect human group, 
the nation. 

If the sect is composed of individuals united by a common idea 
and aim, in spite of diversity of birth, education, and social status, 
the caste unites, on the contrary, those who could have—and who 
have sometimes—diverse ideas and aspirations, but who are brought 
together through identity of profession. The sect corresponds to 
the community of faith, the caste to the community of professional 
ideas. ‘The sect is a spontaneous association; the caste is, in many 
ways, a forced association. After having chosen a profession—let it 
be priest, soldier, magistrate—a man belongs necessarily to a caste. 
A person, on the contrary, does not necessarily belong toa sect. And 
when one belongs to a caste—be he the most independent man in the 
world—he is more or less under the influence of that which is called 
esprit de corps. 

The caste represents the highest degree of organization to which 
the homogeneous crowd is susceptible. It is composed of individuals 
who by their tastes, their education, birth, and social status, resemble 
each other in the fundamental types of conduct and mores. There 
are even certain castes, the military and sacerdotal, for example, in 
which the members at last so resemble one another in appearance 
and bearing that no disguise can conceal the nature of their profession. 

The caste offers to its members ideas already molded, rules of 
conduct already approved; it relieves them, in short, of the fatigue 
of thinking with their own brains. When the caste to which an 
individual belongs is known, all that is necessary is to press a button 
of his mental mechanism to release a series of opinions and of phrases 
already made which are identical in every individual of the same 
caste. 

This harmonious collectivity, powerful and eminently conserva- 
tive, is the most salient analogy which the nations of the Occident 
present to that of India. In India the caste is determined by birth, 
and it is distinguished by a characteristic trait: the persons of one 
caste can live with, eat with, and marry only individuals of the same 
caste. 

In Europe it is not only birth, but circumstances and education 
which determine the entrance of an individual into a caste; to 
marry, to frequent, to invite to the same table only people of the 


206 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


same caste, exists practically in Europe as in India. In Europe the 
above-mentioned prescriptions are founded on convention, but they 
are none the less observed. We all live in a confined circle, where we 
find our friends, our guests, our sons- and daughters-in-law. 

Misalliances are assuredly possible in Europe; they are impossible 
in India. But if there religion prohibits them, with us public opin- 
ion and convention render them very rare. And at bottom the 
analogy is complete. 

. The class is superior to the caste in extent. If the psychological 

bond of the sect is community of faith, and that of the caste com- 
munity of profession, the psychological bond of the class is community 
of interests. 

Less precise in its limits, more diffuse and less compact than the 
caste or the sect, the class represents today the veritable crowd in a 
dynamic state, which can in a moment’s time descend from that place 
and become statically a crowd. And it is from the sociological 
standpoint the most terrible kind of crowd; it is that which today 
has taken a bellicose attitude, and which by its attitude and precepts 
prepares the brutal blows of mobs. 

We speak of the “conflict of the classes,’’ and from the theoretical 
point of view and in the normal and peaceful life that signifies only 
a contest of ideas by legal means. Always depending upon the 
occasion, the audacity of one or many men, the character of 
the situation, the conflict of the classes is transformed into some- 
thing more material and more violent—into revolt or into revo- 
lution. | 
Finally we arrive at the state (nation). Tocqueville said that 
the classes which compose society form so many distinct nations. 
They are the greatest collectivities before coming to the nation, the 
state. 

This is the most perfect type of organization of the crowd, and 
the final and supreme type, if there is not another collectivity superior 
in number and extension, the collectivity formed by race. 

The bond which unites all the citizens of a state is language and 
nationality. Above the state there are only the crowds determined 
by race, which comprise many states. And these are, like the states 
and like the classes, human aggregates which in a moment could be 
transformed into violent crowds. But then, and justly, because 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP . 207 


their evolution and their organization are more developed, their mobs 
are called armies, and their violences are called wars, and they have 
the seal of legitimacy unknown in other crowds. In this order of 
ideas war could be defined as the supreme form of collective crimes. 


4. Esprit de Corps, Morale, and Collective Representations 
of Social Groups! 


War is no doubt the least human of human relationships. It can 
begin only when persuasion ends, when arguments fitted to move 
minds are replaced by the blasting-powder fitted to move rocks and 
hills. It means that one at least of the national wills concerned has 
deliberately set aside its human quality—as only a human will can 
do—and has made of itself just such a material obstruction or menace. 
Hence war seems, and is often called, a contest of brute forces. 
Certainly it is the extremest physical effort men make, every resource 
of vast populations bent to increase the sum of power at the front, 
where the two lines writhe like wrestlers laboring for the final fall. 

Yet it is seldom physical force that decides a long war. For 
war summons skill against skill, head against head, staying-power 
against staying-power, as well as numbers and machines against 
machines and numbers. When an engine “exerts itself” it spends 
more power, eats more fuel, but uses no nerve; when a man exerts 
himself, he must bend his will to it, The extremer the physical 
effort, the greater the strain on the inner or moral powers. Hence 
the paradox of war: just because it calls for the maximum material 
performance, it calls out a maximum of moral resource. As long as 
guns and bayonets have men behind them, the quality of the men, 
the quality of their minds and wills, must be counted with the power 
of the weapons. 

And as long as men fight in nations and armies, that subtle but 
mighty influence that passes from man to man, the temper and spirit 
of the group, must be counted with the quality of the individual 
citizen and soldier. But how much does this intangible, psychological 
factor count? Napoleon in his day reckoned it high: “In war, the 
moral is to the physical as three to one.” 


* Adapted from William E. Hocking, Morale and Its Enemies, pp. 3-37. 
(Yale University Press. 1918.) 


208 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


For war, completely seen, is no mere collision of physical forces; 
it is a collision of will against will. It is, after all, the mind and 
will of a nation—a thing intangible and invisible—that assembles 
the materials of war, the fighting forces, the ordnance, the whole 
physical array. It is this invisible thing that wages the war; it is 
this same invisible thing that on one side or the other must admit 
the finish and so end it. As things are now, it is the element of 
“morale” that controls the outcome. 

I say, as things are now; for it is certainly not true as a rule of 
history that will-power is enough to win a war, even when supported 
by high fighting spirit, brains, and a good conscience: Belgium had 
all this, and yet was bound to fall before Germany had she stood 
alone. Her spirit worked miracles at Liége, delayed by ten days 
the marching program of the German armies, and thereby saved— 
perhaps Paris, perhaps Europe. But the day was saved because the 
issue raised in Serbia and in Belgium drew to~their side material 
support until their forces could compare with the physical advantages 
of the enemy. Morale wins, not by itself, but by turning scales; it 
has a value like the power of a minority or of a mobile reserve. It 
adds to one side or the other the last ounce of force which is to its 
opponent the last straw that breaks its back. 

Perhaps the simplest way of explaining the meaning of morale is 
to say that what “condition” is to the athlete’s body, morale is to 
the mind. Morale is condition; good morale is good condition of the 
inner man: it is the state of will in which you can get most from 
the machinery, deliver blows with the greatest effect, take blows 
with the least depression, and hold out for the longest time. It is 
both fighting-power and staying-power and strength to resist the 
mental infections which fear, discouragement, and fatigue bring with 
them, such as eagerness for any kind of peace if only it gives momen- 
tary relief, or the irritability that sees large the defects in one’s own 
side until they seem more important than the need of defeating the 
enemy. And it is the perpetual ability to come back. 

From this it follows that good morale is not the same as good 
spirits or enthusiasm. It is anything but the cheerful optimism of 
early morning, or the tendency to be jubilant at every victory. It 
has nothing in common with the emotionalism dwelt on by psycholo- 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 209 


gists of the “crowd.” It is hardly to be discovered in the early 
stages of war. Its most searching test is found in the question, How 
does war-weariness affect you ? 

No one going from America to Europe in the last year could fail 
to notice the wide difference between the mind of nations long at 
war and that of a nation just entering. Over there, “crowd psy- 
chology” had spent itself. There was little flag-waving; the com- 
mon purveyors of music were not everywhere playing (or allowed to 
play, the national airs. If in some Parisian cinema the Marseillaise 
was given, nobody stood or sang. The reports of atrocities roused 
little visible anger or even taik—they were taken for granted. In 
short, the simpler emotions had been worn out, or rather had resolved 
themselves into clear connections between knowledge and action. 
The people had found the mental gait that can be held indefinitely. 
Even a great advance finds them on their guard against too much 
joy. As the news from the second victory of the Marne begins to 
come in, we find this despatch: ‘Paris refrains from exultation.” 

And in the trenches the same is true in even greater degree. All 
the bravado and illusion of war are gone, also all the nervous revul- 
sion; and in their places a grimly reliable resource of energy held in 
instant, almost mechanical, readiness to do what is necessary. The 
hazards which it is useless to speculate about, the miseries, delays, 
tediums, casualties, have lost their exclamatory value and have fallen 
into the sullen routine of the day’s work. Here it is that morale 
begins to show in its more vital dimensions. Here the substantial 
differences between man and man, and between side and side, begin 
to appear as they can never appear in training camp. 

Fitness and readiness to act, the positive element in morale, is a 
matter not of good and bad alone, but of degree. Persistence, 
courage, energy, initiative, may vary from zero upward without 
limit. Perhaps the most important dividing line—one that has 
already shown itself at various critical points—is that between the 
willingness to defend and the willingness to attack, between the 
defensive and the aggressive mentality. It is the difference between 
docility and enterprise, between a faith at second hand dependent on 
neighbor or leader, and a faith at first hand capable of assuming for 
itself the position of leadership. 


210 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. The Scientific Study of Societies 


Interest in the study of “society as it is” has had its source 
in two different motives. Travelers’ tales have always fascinated 
mankind. The ethnologists began their investigations by criticising 
and systematizing the novel and interesting observations of travelers 
in regard to customs, cultures, and behavior of people of different 
races and nationalities. Their later more systematic investigations 
were, on the whole, inspired by intellectual curiosity divorced from 
any overwhelming desire to change the manner of life and social 
organizations of the societies studied. 

The second motive for the systematic observation of actual 
society came from persons who wanted social reforms but who were 
forced to realize the futility of utopian projects. The science of 
sociology as conceived by Auguste Comte was to substitute fact for 
doctrines about society. But his attempt to interpret social evolution 
resulted in a philosophy of history, not a natural science of society. 

Herbert Spencer appreciated the fact that the new science of 
sociology required an extensive body of materials as a basis for its ~ 
generalizations. ‘Through the work of assistants he set himself the 
monumental task of compiling historical and cultural materials not 
only upon primitive and barbarous peoples but also upon the Hebrews, 
the Phoenicians, the French and the English. These data were 
classified and published in eight large volumes under the title 
Descriptive Soctology. 

The study of human societies was too great to be satisfactorily 
compassed by the work of one man. Besides that, Spencer, like most 
English sociologists, was more interested in the progress of civilization 
than in its processes. Spencer’s Sociology is still a philosophy of 
history rather than a science of society. The philosophy of history 
took for its unit of investigation and interpretation the evolution of 
human society as a whole. The present trend in sociology is toward 
the study of societies rather than society. Sociological research has 
been directed less to a study of the stages of evolution than to the 
diagnosis and control of social problems. 

Modern sociology’s chief inheritance from Comte and Spencer 
was a problem in logic: What is a society? 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 211 


Manifestly if the relations between individuals in society are not 
merely formal, and if society is something more than the sum of 
its parts, then these relations must be defined in terms of interaction, 
that is to say, in terms of process. What then is the social process; 
what are the social processes? How are social processes to be distin- 
guished from physical, chemical, or biological processes? What is, 
in general, the nature of the relations that need to be established 
in order to make of individuals in society, members of society ? These 
questions are fundamental since they define the point of view of 
sociology and describe the sort of facts with which the science seeks 
to deal. Upon these questions the schools have divided and up to 
the present time there is no very general consensus among sociologists 
in regard to them. ‘The introductory chapter to this volume is at 
once a review of the points of view and an attempt to find answers. 
In the literature to which reference is made at the close of chapter iii 
the logical questions involved are discussed in a more thorough- 
going way than has been possible to do in this volume. 

Fortunately science does not wait to define its points of view 
nor solve its theoretical problems before undertaking to analyze and 
collect the facts. The contrary is nearer the truth. Science collects 
facts and answers the theoretical questions afterward. Im fact, it 
is just its success in analyzing and collecting facts which throw light 
upon human problems that in the end justifies the theories of science. 


2. Surveys of Communities 


The historian and the philosopher introduced the sociologist 
to the study of society. But it was the reformer, the social worker, 
and the business man who compelled him to study the community. 

The study of the community is still in its beginnings. Never- 
theless, there is already a rapidly growing literature on this topic. 
Ethnologists have presented us with vivid and detailed pictures of 
primitive communities as in McGee’s The Seri Indians, Jenks’s The 
Bontoc Igorot, Rivers’ The Todas. Studies of the village communities 
of India, of Russia, and of early England have thrown new light 
upon the territorial factor in the organization of societies. 

More recently the impact of social problems has led to the inten- 
sive study of modern communities. The monumental work of 


212. INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Charles Booth, Life and Labour of the People in London, isa compre- 
hensive description of conditions of social life in terms of the commu- 
nity. In the United States, interest in community study is chiefly 
represented by the social-survey movement which received impetus 
from the Pittsburgh Survey of 1907. For sociological research of 
greater promise than the survey are the several monographs which 
seek to make a social] analysis of the community, as Williams, An 
American Town, or Galpin, The Social Anatomy of an Agricultural 
Community. With due recognition of these auspicious beginnings, it 
must be confessed that there is no volume upon human communities 
comparable with several works upon plant and animal communities. 


3. The Group as a Unit of Investigation 


The study of societies is concerned primarily with types of social 
organization and with attitudes and cultural elements embodied in 
them. The survey of communities deals essentially with social 
situations and the problems connected with them. 

The study of social groups was a natural outgrowth of the study 
of the individual. Jn order to understand the person it is necessary 
to consider the group. Attention first turned to social institutions, 
then to conflict groups, and finally to crowds and crowd influences. 

Social institutions were naturally the first groups to be studied 
with some degree of detachment. The work of ethnologists stimu- 
lated an interest in social origins. Evolution, though at first a purely 
biological conception, provoked inquiry into the historical develop- 
ment of social structure. Differences in institutions in contemporary 
societies led to comparative study. Critics of institutions, both 
iconoclasts without and reformers within, forced a consideration of 
their more fundamental aspects. 

The first written accounts of conflict groups were quite naturally 
of the propagandist type both by their defenders and by their oppo- 
nents. Histories of nationalities, for example, originated in the 
patriotic motive of national glorification. With the acceptance of 
objective standards of historical criticism the ground was prepared 
for the sociological study of nationalities as conflict groups. A 
school of European sociologists represented by Gumplowicz, Ratzen- 
hofer, and Novicow stressed conflict as the characteristic behavior of 
social groups. Beginnings, as indicated in the bibliography, have 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 213 


been made of the study of various conflict groups as gangs, labor: 
unions, parties, and sects. : 

The interest in the mechanism of the control of the individual 
by the group has been focused upon the study of the crowd. ‘Tarde 
and Le Bon in France, Sighele in Italy, and Ross in the United States 
were the pioneers in the description and interpretation of the behavior 
of mobs and crowds. The crowd phenomena of the Great War have 
stimulated the production of several books upon crowds and crowd 
influences which are, in the main, but superficial and popular elabora- 
tions of the interpretations of Tarde and Le Bon. Concrete material 
upon group behavior has rapidly accumulated, but little or no progress 
has been made in its sociological explanation. 

At present there are many signs of an increasing interest in the 
study of group behavior. Contemporary literature is featuring 
realistic descriptions. Sinclair Lewis in Mazin Street describes con- 
cretely the routine of town life with its outward monotony and its 
inner zest. ._Newspapers and magazines are making surveys of the 
buying habits of their readers as a basis for advertising. ‘The federal 
department of agriculture in co-operation with schools of agriculture 
is making intensive studies of rural communities. Social workers are 
conscious that a more fundamental understanding of social groups is 
a necessary basis for case work and community organization. Sur- 
veys of institutions and communities are now being made under many 
auspices and from varied points of view. All this is having a fruitful 
reaction upon the sociological theory. 


4. The Study of the Family 


The family is the earliest, the most elementary, and the most 
permanent of social groups. It has been more completely studied, 
in all its various aspects, than other forms of human association. 
Methods of investigation of family life are typical of methods that 
may be employed in the description of other forms of society. For 
that reason more attention is given here to studies of family life than 
it is possible or desirable to give to other and more transient types of 
social groups. 

The descriptions of travelers, of ethnologists and of historians 
made the first contributions to our knowledge of marriage, cere- 
monials, and family organization among primitive and historical 


214 ™NTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


peoples. Early students of these data devised theories of stages in 
the evolution of the family. An anthology might be made of the 
conceptions that students have formulated of the original form of the 
family, for example, the theory of the matriarchate by Bachofen, of 
group marriage growing out of earlier promiscuous relations by 
Morgan, of the polygynous family by Darwin, of pair marriage by 
Westermarck. An example of the ingenious, but discarded method 
of arranging all types of families observed in a series representing 
stages of the evolution is to be found in Morgan’s Ancient Society. 
A survey of families among primitive peoples by Hobhouse, Gins- 
berg, and Wheeler makes the point that even family life is most 
varied upon the lower levels of culture, and that the historical devel- 
opment of the family with any people must be studied in relation 
to the physical and social environment. 

The evolutionary theory of the family has, however, furnished 
a somewhat detached point of view for the criticism of the modern 
family. Social reformers have used the evolutionary theory as a 
formula to justify attacks upon the family as an institution and to 
support the most varied proposals for its reconstruction. Books like 
Ellen Key’s Love and Marriage and Meisel-Hess, The Sexual Crisis 
are not scientific studies of the family but rather social political 
philippics directed against marriage and the family. 

The interest stimulated by ethnological observation, historical 
study, and propagandist essays has, however, turned the attention 
of certain students to serious study of the family and its problems. 
Howard’s History of Matrimonial Institutions is a scholarly and com- 
prehensive treatise upon the evolution of the legal status of the family. 
Annual statistics of marriage and divorce are now compiled and pub- 
lished by all the important ‘een the United States govern- 
ment. In the United Stat ver, three studies of marriages 
and divorces have been made; one in 1887-88, by the Department 
of Labor, covering the twenty years from 1867-86 inclusive; another 
in 1906-7, by the Bureau of the Census, for the twenty years 1887- 
1906; and the last, also by the Bureau of the Census, for the 
year 1916. 

The changes in family life resulting from the transition from 
home industry to the factory system have created new social prob- 
lems. Problems of woman and child labor, unemployment, and 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 215 


poverty are a product of the machine industry. Attempts to relieve 
the distress under conditions of city life resulted in the formation of 
charity organization societies and other philanthropic institutions, 
and in attempts to control the behavior of the individuals and families 
assisted. ‘The increasing body of experience gained by social agencies 
has gradually been incorporated in the technique of the workers. 
Mary Richmond in Social Diagnosis has analyzed and standardized 
the procedure of the social case worker. 

Less direct but more fundamental studies of family life have 
been made by other investigators. Le Play, a French social econo- 
mist, who lived with the families which he observed, introduced the 
method of the monographic study of the economic organization of 
family life. Ernst Engel, from his study of the expenditure of Saxon 
working-class families, formulated so-called “‘laws” of the relation 
between family income and family outlay. Recent studies of family 
incomes and budgets by Chapin, Ogburn, and others have thrown 
additional light upon the relationship between wages and the standard 
of living. Interest in the economics of the family is manifested by an 
increasing number of studies in dietetics, household administration 
and domestic science. | 

Westermarck in his History of Human Marriage attempted to 
write a sociology of the family. Particularly interesting is his attempt 
to compare the animal family with that of man. The effect of this 
was to emphasize instinctive and biological aspects of the family 
rather than its institutional character. The basis for a psychology 
of family life was first laid in the Studies in the Psychology of Sex by 
Havelock Ellis. The case studies of individuals by psychoanalysts 
often lead into family complexes and illuminate the structure of 
family attitudes and wishes. 

The sociological study of the family as a natural and a cultural 
group is only now in its beginnings. An excellent theoretical study 
of the family as a unity of interacting members is presented in Bosan- 
quet, The Family. The family as defined in the mores has been 
described and interpreted, as for example, by Thomas in his analysis 
of the organization of the large peasant family group in the first two 
volumes of the Polish Peasant. Materials upon the family in the 
United States have been brought together by Calhoun in his Social 
History of the American Family. 


‘ 


216 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


While the family is listed by Cooley among primary groups, the , 
notion is gaining ground that it is primary in a unique sense which 
sets it apart from all other social groups. The biological inter- 
dependence and co-operation of the members of the family, intimacies 
of closest and most enduring contacts have no parallel among other 
human groups. The interplay of the attractions, tensions, and 
accommodations of personalities in the intimate bonds of family life 
have up to the present found no concrete description or adequate 
analysis in sociological inquiry. 

The best case studies of family life at present are in fiction, not in 
the case records of social agencies, nor yet in sociological literature. 
Arnold Bennett’s trilogy, Clayhanger, Hilda Lessways, and These 
Twain, suggests a pattern not unworthy of consideration by social 
workers and sociologists. The Pastor’s Wife, by the author of Eliza- 
beth and Her German Garden, is a delightful contrast of English and 
German mores in their effect upon the intimate relations of family 
life. | 

In the absence of case studies of the family as a natural and 
cultural group the following tentative outline for sociological study 
is offered: 


1. Location and extent in time and space.—Genealogical tree as retained 
in the family memory; geographical distribution and movement of members 
of small family group and of large family group; stability or mobility of 
family; its rural or urban location. 

2. Family traditions and ceremonials.—Family romance; family skele- 
ton; family ritual, as demonstration of affection, family events, etc. 

3. Family economics.—Family communism; division of labor between 
members of the family; effect of occupation of its members. 

4. Family organization and control.—Conflicts and accommodation; 
superordination and subordination; typical forms of control—patriarchy, 
matriarchy, consensus, etc.; family esprit de corps, family morale, family 
objectives; status in community. 

5. Family behavior.—Family life from the standpoint of the four wishes 
(security, response, recognition, and new experience); family crises; the 
family and the community; familism versus individualism; family life 
and the development of personality. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 257 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. THE DEFINITION OF SOCIETY 


(1) Kistiakowski, Dr. Th. Gesellschaft und Einzelwesen; eine method- 
ologische Studie. Berlin, 1899. [A review and criticism of the principal 
conceptions of society with reference to their value for a natural 
science of society.] 

(2) Weber, Max. Gesammelte Aufsdtze zur Wissenschaftslehre. ‘Tiibingen, 
1922. [Review of a series of essays upon the methodology of the 
historical, economic, and sociological sciences. ] 

(3) Bosanquet, Bernard. The Philosophical Theory of the State. Chap. 
ii, “‘“Sociological compared with Philosophical Theory,” pp. 17-52. 
London, 1899. 

(4) Barth, Paul. Die Philosophie der Geschichte als Sociologie. Leipzig, 
1897. [A comparison of the different schools and an attempt to inter- 
pret them as essays in the philosophy of history.] 

(5) Espinas, Alfred. Des sociétés animales. Paris, 1877. [A definition 
of society based upon a comparative study of animal associations, 
communities, and societies.] 

(6) Spencer, Herbert. ‘‘The Social Organism,” Essays, Scientific, Political 
and Speculative, 1, 265-307. New York, 1892. [First published in 
The Westminster Review for January, 1860.] 

(7) Lazarus, M., and Steinthal, H. ‘‘Einleitende Gedanken zur Vélker- 
psychologie als Einladung zu einer Zeitschrift fiir Volkerpsychologie 
und Sprachwissenschaft,” Zeitschrift fiir Vélkerpsychologie und Sprach- 
wissenschaft, I (1860), 1-73. [This is the most important early attempt 
to interpret social phenomena from a social psychological point of 
view. See p. 35 for definition of Volk “the people.’’] 

(8) Knapp, G. Friedrich. ‘‘Quételet als Theoretiker,”’ Jahrbiicher fiir 
Nationalékonomie und Statistik, XVIII (1872), 89-124. 

(9) Lazarus, M. Das Leben der Seele in Monographieen iiber seine 
Erscheinungen und Gesetze. Berlin, 1876. 

(10) Durkheim, Emile. ‘“‘Représentations individuelles et représentations 
collectives,’ Revue de métaphysique et de morale, VI (1808), 273-302. 

(11) Simmel, Georg. Uber sociale Differenzierung. Sociologische und 
psychologische Untersuchungen. Leipzig, 1890. 

(12) Weber, Max. Grundriss der Sozialékonomik. III. Abteilung. 
Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tiibingen, 1922. [An attempt to 
define society as a control organization within the limits of an economic 
community.] . 
iSee also in Bibliography, chap. i, volumes listed under Systematic 
Treatises. ] 


II. PLANT COMMUNITIES AND ANIMAL SOCIETIES 


(1) Clements, Frederic E. Plant Succession. An analysis of the develop- 
ment of vegetation. Carnegie Institution of Washington, 1916. 
(2) Wheeler, W. M. “The Ant-Colony as an Organism,” Journal of 
Morphology, XXII (1911), 307-25. 
(3) Social Life among the Insects. New York, 1923. 
(4) Parmelee, Maurice. The Science of Human Behavior. Biological and 
Psychological Foundations. New York, 1913. ([Bibliography.] 





218 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(s) Massart, J., and Vandervelde, E. Parasitism, Organic and Social. 
2ded. Translated by W. Macdonald. Revised by J. Arthur Thomson. 
London, 1907. 

(6) Warming, Eug. Oeccology of Plants. An introduction to the study of 
plant communities. Oxford, 1909. [Bibliography.] 

(7) Adams, Charles C. Guide to the Siudy of Animal Ecology. New York, 
1913. [Bibliography.] 

(7) Waxweiler, E. ‘‘Esquisse d’une sociologie,” Travaux de l'Institut de 
Sociologie (Solvay), Notes et mémoires, Fasc. 2. Bruxelles, 1906. 

(9) Reinheimer, H. Symbiosis. A socio-physiological study of evolution. 
London, 1920. 


III. THE CLASSIFICATION OF SOCIAL GROUPS 
A. Types of Social Groups 
1. Non-territorial Groups: 


(1) Le Bon, Gustave. The Crowd. A study of the popular mind. 
London, 1897. 

(2) Sighele, S. Psychologie des sectes. Paris, 1808. 

(3) Tarde, G. L’opinion et la foule. Paris, rgot. 

(4) Fahlbeck, Pontus. Klasserna och Samhallet. Stockholm, 1920. 
[Book review in American Journal of Sociology, XXVI (1920-21), 


633-34. 
(s) Nesfield, John C. Brief View of the Caste System of the North- 
western Provinces and Oudh. Allahabad, 1885. 


2. Territorial Groups: 

(1) McKenzie, R. D. “The Ecological Approach to the Study of the 
Human Community,” American Journal of Sociology, XIX, 
November, 1924. 

(2) Hassert, Kurt. Due Stiédte geographisch betrachtet. Leipzig, 1907. 

(3) Cornish, Vaughan. The Great Capitals. An Historical Geography. 
New York, 1922. 

(4) Aurousseau, M. “Recent Contributions to Urban Geography: 
a Review,” Geographical Review, XIV (1924), 444-55. [Biblio- 
graphical survey.| | 

(5) Simmel, Georg. ‘“‘Die Grossstaidte und das Geistesleben,” Dze 
Grossstadt, Vortrage und Aufsaitze zur Stadteausstellung, von 
K. Biicher, F. Ratzel, G. v. Mayr, H. Waentig, G. Simmel, 
Th. Peterman, und D. Schafer. Dresden, 1903. 

(6) Galpin, C. J. The Social Anatomy of an Agricultural Community. 
Madison, Wis., 1915. (Agricultural experiment station of the 
University of Wisconsin. Research Bulletin 34.) [See also 
Rural Life, New York, 1918.] 

(7) Aronovici, Carol. The Social Survey. Philadelphia, 1916. 

(8) McKenzie, R. D. The Neighborhood. A study of local life in 
Columbus, Ohio. Chicago, 1923. 

(9) Park, Robert E. ‘‘The City. Suggestions for the Investigation 
of Human Behavior in the City Environment,” American Journal 
of Sociology, XX (1914-15), 577-612. 

(ro) Sims, Newell L. The Rural Community, Ancient and Modern. 
New York, 1920. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 219 


B. Studies of Individual Communities 


A. 


(1) Maine, Sir Henry. Village-Communities in the East and West. 
London, 187r. 

(2) Baden-Powell, H. The Indian Village Community. Examined 
with reference to the physical, ethnographic, and historical condi- 
tions of the provinces. London, 1806. 

(3) Seebohm, Frederic. The English Village Community. Examined 
in its relations to the manorial and tribal systems and to the 
common or open field system of husbandry. An essay in economic 
history. London, 1883.. 

(4) McGee, W J. ‘The Seri Indians,” Bureau of American Ethnology 
17th Annual Report 1895-96. Washington, 1808. 

(5) Rivers, W. H.R. The Todas. London and New York, 1906. 

(6) Jenks, Albert. The Bontoc Igorot. Manila, 1905. 

(7) Stow, John. A Survey of London. Reprinted from the text of 
‘1603 with introduction and notes by C. L. Kingsford. Oxford, 1908. 

(8) Gamble, Sidney D., and Burgess, John S. Peking. A social 
survey. New York, 1921. 

(9) Booth, Charles. Life and Labour of the People in London. 9 vols. 
London and New York, 1892-97. 8 additional volumes, 1902. 

(ro) Kellogg, P. U., ed. The Pittsburgh Survey. Findings in 6 vols. 
Russell Sage Foundation, New York, 1909-14. 

(11) Woods, Robert. The City Wilderness. A settlement study, south 
end of Boston. Boston, 1898. 

-. Americans in Process. A settlement study, north and 
west ends of Boston. Boston, 1902. 

(12) Kenngott, G. F. The Record of a City. A social survey of Lowell, 
Massachusetts,. New York, 1912. 

(13) Harrison, Shelby M., ed. The Springfield Survey. A study of 
social conditions in an American city. Findings in 3 vois. Russell 
Sage Foundation. New York, 1918. 

(14) Roberts, Peter. Anthracite Coal Communities. A study of the 
demography, the social, educational, and moral life of the anthracite 
regions. New York and London, 1904. 

(15) Williams, J.M. An American Town. A sociological study. New 
York, 1906. 

(16) Wilson, Warren H. Quaker Hill. A sociological study. New 
York, 1907. 

(17) Taylor, Graham R. Satellite Cities. A study of industrial suburbs. 
New York and London, rors. 

(18) Lewis, Sinclair. Main ‘Street. New York, 1920. 

(19) Kobrin, Leon. A Lithuanian Village. Translated from the 
‘Yiddish by Isaac Goldberg. New York, 1920. 


IV. THE STUDY OF THE FAMILY 
The Primitive Family 


1. The Natural History of Marriage: 


(1) Bachofen, J. J. Das Mutterrecht. Eine Untersuchung iiber die 
Gynaikokratie der alten Welt nach ihrer religidsen und recht- 
lichen Natur. Stuttgart, 1861. 





220 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Vv (2) Westermarck, E. The History of Human Marriage. 5th ed. 
3 vols. . New York, 1922. 

(3) McLennan, J. F. Primitive Marriage. An inquiry into the 
origin of the form of capture in marriage ceremonies. Edin- 
burgh, 1865. 

(4) Tylor, E. B. “The Matriarchal Family System,” Nineteenth 
Century, XL (1896), 81-06. 

(5) Dargun, L. von. Mutterrecht und Vaterrecht. Leipzig, 1892. 

(6) Maine, Sir Henry. Dissertations on Early Law and Custom. 
Chap. vii. London, 1883. 

(7) Letourneau, C. The Evolution of Marriage and of the Famtly. 
(Trans.) New York, r8or. 

(8) Kovalevsky, M. Tableau des origines et de l’evolution de la 
famille et de la propriété. Stockholm, 1890. 

(9) Lowie, Robert H. Primitive Society. New York, 1920. 

(10) Starcke, C. N. The Primitive Family in Its Origin and_Develop- 
ment. New York, 188o. 

|” (11) Hobhouse, L. T., Wheeler, G..C., and Ginsberg, M. The 

Material Culture and Social Institutions of the Simpler Peoples. 
London, rots. 

(12) Parsons, Elsie Clews. The Family. An ethnographical and 
historical outline. New York and London, 1906. 

(13) Todd, Arthur J. The Primitive Family as an Educational A gency. 
New York, 1913. 

(14) Rivers,W.H.R. Kinship and Social Organization. London,1o14. 


2. Studies of Family Life in Different Cultural Areas: 


(1) Spencer, B., and Gillen, F. J. The Native Tribes of Central 
Australia. Chap. ii, ‘‘Certain Ceremonies Concerned with 
Marriage,” pp. 92-111. London and New York, 1899. 

fy. (2) ‘Rivers, W. H. R. Kinship and Social Organization. ‘Studies 

in Economics and Political Science,” No. 36. In the series of 
monographs by writers connected with the London School of 
Economics and Political Science. London, rgrq. 

“Kinship,” Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to 
Torres Straits, Report, V, 129-47; VI, 92-125; Cambridge, 
1904-8. 

(4) Kovalevsky, M. “La famille matriarcale au Caucase,” L’An- 
thropologie, IV (1893), 259-78. 

(5s) Thomas, N. W. Kinship Organizations and Group Marriage in 
Australia. Cambridge, 1906. 

(6) Malinowski, Bronislaw. The Family among the Australian 
Aborigines. A sociological study. London, 1913. 


(3) 





B. Materials for the Study of Familial Attitudes and Sentiments 


(1) Frazer, J.G. Totemism and Exogamy. A treatise on certain early 
forms of superstition and society. London, 1g1o. 

(2) Durkheim, E. ‘“‘La prohibition de l’inceste et ses origines,”’ 
L’année sociologique, I (1896-97), 1-70. 

(3) Ploss,H. Das Weib in der Natur- und Vélkerkunde. Leipzig, 1902. 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 221 


(4) Lasch, R. ‘Der Selbstmord aus erotischen Motiven bei den primi- 
tiven Vélkern,” Zeitschrift fiir Sozialwissenschaft, IL (1899). 578-85. 

(5) Jacobowski, L. “Das Weib in der Poesie der Hottentotten,” 
Globus, LXX (1806), 173-76. 

(6) Stoll, O. Das Geschlechtsleben in der Vélkerpsychologie. Leipzig, 
1908. 

(7) Crawley, A. E. ‘Sexual Taboo: A Study in the Relations of the 
Sexes,” The Journal of the Anthropological Institute, XXIV (1894- 
95), 116-25; 210-35; 430-46. 

(8) Simmel, G. ‘Zur Psychologie der Frauen,” Zeitschrift fiir V dlker- 
psychologie und Sprachwissenschaft, XX, 6-46. 

(9) Finck, Henry T. Romantic Love and Personal Beauty. Their 
development, causal relations, historic and national peculiarities. 
London and New York, 1887. 

(10) Primitive Love and Love Stories. New York, 1899. 

(rr) Kline, L. W. “The Migratory Impulse versus Love of Home,” 
American Journal of Psychology, X (1898-99), 1-81. 

(12) Key, Ellen. Love and Marriage. ‘Translated from the Swedish by 
A. G. Chater; with a critical and biographical introduction by 
Havelock Ellis. New York and London, 1012. 

(13) Meisel-Hess, Grete. The Sexual Crisis. A critique of our sex life. 
Translated from the German by E. and C. Paul. New York, 1917. 

(14) Bloch, Iwan. The Sexual Life of Our Time in Its Relation to Modern 
Civilization. ‘Translated from the 6th German ed. by M. Eden 
Paul. Chap. vui, ‘‘The Individualization of Love,” pp. 159-76. 
London, 1908. 





C. Economics of the Family 


(1) Grosse, Ernst. Die Formen der Familie und die Formen der Wirt- 
schaft. Freiburg, 1896. ; 

(2) Le Play, P. G. Frédéric. Les ouvriers européens. Etudes sur les 
travaux, la vie domestique, et la condition morale des populations 
ouvriéres de Europe. Précédées d’un exposé de la méthode 
d’observation. Paris, 1855. [Comprises a series of 36 monographs 
on the budgets of typical families selected from the most diverse 
industries.] 

(3) Le Play, P. G. Frédéric. L’organisation de la famille. Selon le vrai 
modeéle signalé par l’histoire de toutes les races et de tous les temps. 
Paris, 1871. 

(4) Engel, Ernst. Die Lebenskosten belgischer Arbeiter-Familien friiher 
und jetzt. Ermittelt aus Familien-Haushaltrechnungen und _ ver- 
gleichend zusammengestellt. Dresden, 1895. 

(5) Chapin, Robert C. The Standard of Living among Workingmen’s 
Families tn New York City. Russell Sage Foundation. New 
York, 1909. | 

(6) Talbot, Marion, and Breckinridge, Sophonisba P. The Modern 
Household. Rev. ed. Boston, 1919. [Bibliography at the end of 
each chapter.] 

(7) Nesbitt, Florence. Household Management. Preface by Mary E. 
Richmond. Russell Sage Foundation. New York, 1918. 


222 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


D. The Sociology of the Family 
1. Studies in Family Organization: 


(1) Bosanquet, Helen. Zhe Family. London and New York, 1906. 

(2) Durkheim, E. “Introduction 4 la sociologie de la famille.” 
Annales de la faculté des lettres de Bordeaux (1888), pp. 257-81. 

(3) Durkheim, E. “La famille conjugale,” Revue philosophique, 
XLI (1921), I-14. 

(4) Fliigel, John Carl. The Psycho-analytic Study of the Family. 
London, 1921. 

(5) Howard, G. E. A History of Matrimonial Institutions Chiefly 
in England and the United States. With an introductory analysis 
of the literature and theories of primitive marriage and the 
family. 3 vols. Chicago, 1904. 

(6) Thwing, Charles F. and Carrie F.B. The Family. A historical 
and social study. Boston, 1887. 

(7) Goodsell, Willystine. A History of the Family as a Social and 
Educational Institution. New York, rots. 

(8) Dealey, J. Q. The Family tn Tis Sociological Aspects. Boston, 
IQI2. 

(9) opie Arthur W. A Social History of the American Family 
from Colonial Times to the Present. 3 vols. Cleveland, 1917-10. 
[Bibliography.| 

(10) Thomas, W.I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe 
and America. “Primary-Group Organization,” I, 87-524, II. 
Boston, 1918. [A study based on correspondence between 
members of the family in America and Poland.] 

(11) Du Bois, W. E. B. The Negro American Family. Atlanta. 
1908. [Bibliography.] : 

(12) Su, S. G. The Chinese Family System. New York, 10922. 
[Bibliography] 

(13) Williams, James M. “Outline of a Theory of Social Motives,” 
American Journal of Sociology, XV (1909-10), 741-80. [Theory 
of motives based upon observation of rural and urban families.| 


2. Materials for the Study of Family Disorganization: 


(1) Willcox, Walter F. The Divorce Problem. A study in statistics. 
(‘Columbia University Studies in History, Economics and 
Public Law,” Vol. I. New York, 1891.) 

(2) Lichtenberger, J. P. Divorce. A study in social causation. 
New York, 19009. 

(3) United States Bureau of the Census. Marriage and Divorce, 
1867-1906. 2 vols. Washington, 1908-9. [Results of two 
federal investigations. ] 

(4) Marriage and Divorce, 1916. Washington, 1919. 

(5) Eubank, Earle E. A Study in Family Desertion. Department 
of Public Welfare. Chicago, 1916. [Bibliography.| 

(6) Breckinridge, Sophonisba P., and Abbott, Edith. The Delin- 
quent Child and the Home. A study of the delinquent wards of 
the Juvenile Court of Chicago. Russell Sage Foundation. New 
York, 1912. 





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bo HH O 


ee! 
bw 


co ON AM FW DH 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 220% 


(7) Colcord, Joanna. Broken Homes. A study of family desertion 
and its social treatment. Russell Sage Foundation. New 
York, roto. 

(8) Kammerer, Percy G. The Unmarried Mother. A study of five 
hundred cases. Boston, 1918. » 

(9) Ellis, Havelock. The Task of Social Hygiene. Boston, 1912. 

(10) Myerson, Abraham. ‘‘Psychiatric Family Studies,” American 
Journal of Insanity, LXXIV (April, 1918), 497-555. 

(tr) Morrow, Prince A.. Social Diseases and Marriage. Social 
prophylaxis. New York, 1904. 

(12) Periodicals on Social Hygiene: 
Zeitschrift fiir Sexualwissenschaft, Bd. 1, April, t914-, Bonn 
[r915-]. 
Social Hygiene, Vol. 1, December, 1914-, New York [19015]. 
Die Neue Generation, Bd. 1, 1908-, Berlin [1908-]. Preceded 
by Mutterschutz, Vols. I-III. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Society and the Individual: The Cardinal Problem of Sociology 

. Historic Conceptions of Society: Aristotle, Hobbes, Rousseau, etc. 
. Plant Communities 

. Animal Societies: The Ant Colony, the Bee Hive 


Animal Communities, or Studies in Animal Ecology 
Human Communities, Human Ecology, and Economics 
The Natural Areas of the City 


. Studies in Group Consciousness: National, Sectional, State, Civic 

. Co-operation versus Consensus 

. Taming as a Form of Social Control 

. Domestication among Plants, Animals, and Man 

. Group Unity and the Different Forms of Consensus: Esprit de corps, 


Morale, Collective Representations 


. The Social Nature of Concepts 
.. Conduct and Behavior 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What, in your opinion, are the essential elements in Espinas’ definition 


of society ? 


2. In what sense does society differ from association ? 


3. 


According to Espinas’ definition, which of the following social relations 
ett constitute society: robber and robbed; beggar and almsgiver; 
Charity organization and recipients of relief; master and slave; ’em- 
ployer and employee ? 


. What illustrations of symbiosis in human society occur to you? 


224 


5: 


6. 


Oo won 


IO. 
II. 
12. 
13. 
I4. 


Pe: 
16. 


TZ 


IQ. 


AO). 


21. 


226 


24. 


25, 


26. 


a7 
28. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Are changes resulting from human symbiosis changes (a) of structure, 
or (b) of function ? 

What are the likenesses and the differences between social symbiosis 
in human and in ant society ? 


. What is the difference between taming and domestication ? 
. What is the relation of domestication to society ? 
. Is man a famed or a domesticated animal ? 


What are the likenesses between a plant and a human community ? 
What are the differences ? 

What is the fundamental difference between a plant community and an 
ant society ? 

What are the differences between human and animal societies? 

Does the ant have customs ? ceremonies ? 

Do you think that there is anything akin to public sentiment in ant 
society ? 

What is the relation of education to social heredity ? 

In what way do you differentiate between the characteristic behavior 
of machines and human beings ? 

“Society not only continues to exist by transmission, by communication, 
but it may fairly be said to exist im transmission, 77 communication.” 
Interpret. 


. How does Dewey’s definition of society differ from that of Espinas? 


Which do you prefer? Why? 

Is consensus synonymous with co-operation ? 

Under what conditions would Dewey characterize the following social 
relations as society: master and slave; employer and employee; 
parent and child; teacher and student ? 

In what sense does the communication of an experience to another 
person change the experience itself ? 

In what sense are concepts social in contrast with sensations which 
are individual? Would it be possible to have concepts outside of 
group life? 


. How does Park distinguish between behavior and conduct ? 


In what ways is human society in its origin and continuity based on 
conduct P 

To what extent does “‘the animal nature of man” (Hobhouse) provide 
a basis for the social organization of life ? 

What, according to Hobhouse, are the Cie ee of human morality 
from animal behavior ? 

What do you understand by a collective representation ? 

How do you distinguish between the terms society, social community, 
and group? Can you name a society that could not be considered as 
acommunity ? Can you name a community that is not a society ? 


20. 
2a: 


ay, 


Rep 


33: 


34: 


SOCIETY AND THE GROUP 225 


In what. fundamentally, does the unity of the group consist ? 

What groups are omitted in Le Bon’s classification of social groups ? 
Make a list of all the groups, formal and informal, of which you are a 
member. Arrange these groups under the classification given in the 
General Introduction (p. 50). Compare this classification with that 
made by Le Bon. 

How do you distinguish between esprit de corps, morale, and collective 
representation as forms of consensus ? 

Classify under esprit de corps, morale, or collective representation the 
following aspects of group behavior: rooting at a football game; 
army discipline; the flag; college spirit; the so-called ‘‘ war psychosis”’; 
the fourteen points of President Wilson; ‘‘the English never know when 
they are beaten”; slogans; ‘‘Paris refrains from exultation”; crowd 
enthusiasm; the Golden Rule; “where there’s a will there’s a way”; 
Grant’s determination, “‘I’ll fight it out this way if it takes all 
summer”’; ideals. 

“The human mind has a large capacity for adopting beliefs that fit 
the trends of its habits and feelings.” Give concrete illustrations out- 
side of army life. 

What is the importance of the study of the family as a social group ? 


CHAPTER IV 
ISOLATION 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Geographical and Biological Conceptions of Isolation 


Relations of persons with persons, and of groups with groups, may 
be either those of isolation or those of contact. The emphasis in this 
chapter is placed upon isolation, in the next chapter upon contact in 
a comparison of their effects upon personal conduct and group 
behavior. 

Absolute isolation of the person from the members of his group is 
unthinkable. Even biologically, two individuals of the higher animal 
species are the precondition to a new individual existence. In man, 
postnatal care by the parent for five or six years is necessary even 
for the physiological survival of the offspring. Not only biologically 
but sociologically complete isolation is a contradiction in terms. 
Sociologists following Aristotle have agreed with him that human 
nature develons within and decays outside of social relations. Isola- 
tion, then, in the social as well as the biological sense is relative, not 
absolute. \ 

The term “isolation” was first employed in anthropogeography, 
the study of the relation of man to his physical environment. To 
natural barriers, as mountains, oceans, and deserts, was attributed 
an influence upon the location of races and the movements of peoples 
and the kind and the degree of cultural contact. The nature and the 
extent of separation of persons and groups was considered by geog- 
raphers as a reflex of the physical environment. 

In biology, isolation as a factor in the evolution and the life of 
the species, is studied from the standpoint of the animal group more 
than from that of the environment. Consequently, the separation 
of species from each other is regarded as the outcome not only of a 
sheer physical impossibility of contact, but even more of other factors 
as differences in physical structure, in habits of life, and in the instincts 


226 


Ut Dy awe Cae 






ISOLATION 


J. Arthur Thomson in his work on ‘‘ Heredi 
presents the following compact and illuminating statement of isclatic 


The only other directive evolution-factor that biologists are at all agrec 
about, besides selection, is isolation—a general term for all the varied 1 
in which the radius of possible intercrossing is narrowed. 
by Wagner, Weismann, Romanes, Gulick, and others, isolati on. tz 
forms—spatial, structural, habrudinal,; and psychical—and it has various 
results. % hi | +a : 

It tends to the segregation of species into sub-spe ci kes it easier 

for new variations to establish themselves, it promotes f cy, or what 
- the breeders call ‘‘transmitting power,” it fixes cha: One of the 
most successful breeds of cattle (Polled Angus) seer had its source 
in one farmsteading; its early history 1 is one /of breeding, its pre- 
potency is remarkable, its success from our pe oint O ew has been great. 
It is difficult to get secure data as to the resuk tion in nature, but 
Gulick’s recent volume on the subject abor oncrete illustrations, 
and we seem warranted in believing that ¢ of isolation have been 
and are of frequent occurrence. _ 

Reibmayr has collected from huma: his ory a wealth of illustrations 
of various forms of isolation, and th ems much to be said for his thesis 
that the establishment of a succes rece or stock requires the alternation 
of periods of inbreeding (endoga ich characters are fixed, and 
periods of outbreeding (exogamy) 4 wl ich, by the introduction of fresh 
blood, new variations are prom ed. P figs: the Jews may serve to 
illustrate the influence of isolat? ay promoting stability of type and 
prepotency; perhaps the A aay serve to illustrate the variability 
which a mixture of diff oks tends to bring about. In historical 
inquiry into the difficy iem 9 the origin of distinct races, it seems 
legitimate to think of f /mutation”—of discontinuous sporting—- 
which led to numerous oi from the main stock, of the migration of 
these variants into 1 ‘ waients where in relative isolation they became 


prepotent and sta 


, 


of the term “isolation” introduces a new 
ay be spatial, but its effects are increas- 


The biolo 
emphasis. 


ingly stru functional. Indeed, spatial isolation was a 
factor i in 4 Species because of specialized organic adaptation 
to vari ic conditions. In other words, the structure of 


1 mson, Heredity, pp. 536-37. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1908.) G 










































228 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


\ the species, its habits of life, and its original and acquired responses, 
tend to isolate it from other species. 

Man as an animal species in his historical development has 
attempted with fair success to destroy the barriers separating him 
from other animals. Through domestication and taming he has 
changeh the original nature and habits of life of many animals. The 
dog, the Campanion of man, is the summit of human achievement in 
association with animals. Nevertheless, the barriers that separate the 
dog and his master are insurmountable. Even if ‘‘a candidate for 
humanity,” the dog is forever debarred from any share in human 
tradition and culture. i 


2. Isolation and Segregation 


ip geography, isolation denote tion in In sociology, 


the essential characteristic of isolation is found in exclusion from 
communication, | 

Geographical forms of ‘istlation are sociologically significant in 
so far as they prevent communication. The isolation of the moun- 
tain whites in the southern statis, even if based on spatial separation, 
consisted in the absence of conacts and competition, participation 
in the progressive currents of civijzation. 

Biological differences, whethe1 physical or mental, between the 
different races are sociologically important to the extent to which 
they affect communication. Of thenselves, differences in skin color 
between races would not prevent intsrcommunication of ideas. But 
the physical marks of racial differences have invariably become the 
symbols of racial solidarity and rata] exclusiveness. The problems 
of humanity are altogether different fiym what they would have been 
were all races of one complexion as the: are of one blood. 

Certain physical and_mental defec defects ani cts _ali_differences in_and_ of 
themselves tend to separate the individual fror his group. The 


deafmute and the blind are deprived of normal av:nues to communi- 
cation. ‘‘My deafness,” wrote Beethoven, “fortes me to live in 
exile.” The physically handicapped are frequently unable to par- 
ticipate in certain human activities on equal terms wit. their fellows. 
Minor physical defects and marked physical variatio:s from the 
normal tend to become the basis of social discrimination. 





ISOLATION 220 


Mental differences frequently offer still greater obstacles to social 
contacts. The idiot and the imbecile are obviously debarréd from 
normal communication with their intelligent associates. The “dunce”’ 
was isolated by village ridicule and contempt long before the term 
“moron” was coined, or the feeble-minded segregated in institutions 
and colonies. The individual with the highest native endowments, 
the genius, and the talented enjoy or suffer from a more subtle type 
of isolation from their fellows, that is, the isolation of eminence. 
“The reason of isolation,’ says Thoreau, a lover of solitude, ‘‘is 

.. not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar; and when 
we soar, the company grows thinner and thinner until there is 
none left.” 

y So far, isolation as a tool of social analysis has been treated as 
an effect of geographical separation or of structural differentiation 
resulting in limitation of communication. Social distances are fre- 
quently based on other subtler forms of isolation. 


Thess ultural differences between_groups has revealed 
barri ite_as real and as effective as those of physical space and. 


structure. Variations in language, folkways, mores, conventions, 
and ideals separate individuals and peoples from each other as widely 
as oceans and deserts. Communication between England and Aus- 
tralia is far closer and freer than between Germany and France. 
Conflict groups, like sects and parties, and accommodation groups 
like castes and classes depend for survival upon isolation. Free 
intercourse of opposing parties is always a menace to their morale. 
Fraternization between soldiers of contending armies, or between 
ministers of rival denominations is fraught witlt peril to the fighting 


efficiency of the organizations they represent. The solidarity of the 
group, like the integrity of the individual, implies-a-measure-at teast— 
of isolation from other groups and persons as a necessary condition 

_ of its existence Sooty, SA a 

. The life-history of any group when analyzed is found to incorpo- 
rate within it elements of isolation as well as of social contact. 
Membership in a group makes for increasing contacts within the 
circle of participants, but decreasing contacts with persons without. 
Isolation is for this reason a factor in the preservation of individuality 
and unity. The esprit de corps and morale of the group is in large 
part maintained by the fixation « 











230 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


representations to the exclusion of others. The memories and senti- 
ments of the members have their source in common experiences of 
the past from which non-members are isolated. This natural ten- 
dency toward exclusive experiences is often reinforced by conscious” 
emphasis upon secrecy. Primitive and modern secret societies, 
sororities, and fraternities have been organized around the principle 
of isolation. Secrecy in a society, like reserve in an individual, pro- 
tects it from a disintegrating publicity. The family has its ‘skeleton 
in the closet,” social groups avoid the public “washing of dirty linen”; 
the community banishes from consciousness, if it can, its slums, and 
parades its parks and boulevards. Every individual who has any 
personality at all maintains some region of privacy. 

A morphological survey of group formation in any society dis- 
closes the fact that there are lateral as well as vertical divisions in 
the social structure. Groups are arranged in strata of relative 
superiority and inferiority. In a stratified society the separation 
into castes is rigid and quite unalterable. In a free society compe- 
tition tends tc destroy classes and castes. New devices come into 
use to keep aspiring and insurgent individuals and groups at the 


proper social level. If ‘familiarity breeds contempt”’_respect may 


be secured by reserve. In_the army the prestige of the officer is 
largely a matter of ‘distance.’ The “divinity that doth hedge the 


king’ is due in large part tothe hedge of ceremonial separating him 
from his subjects. Condescension and pity, while they denote exter- 
nal contact, involve an assumption of spiritual eminence not to 
be found in consensus and sympathy. As protection against the 
penetration of the iriner precincts of personality and the group indi- 
viduality, there are the defenses of suspicion and aversion, of 
@ reticence and reserve, designed to insure the proper social distance. 


3. Classification of the Materials 


The materials in the present chapter are intended to illustrate 
the fact that individuality of the person and of the group is both an 
effect of and a cause of isolation. 

The first selections under the heading “Isolation and Personal 
Individuality” bring out the point that the function of i jon in 
personal development lies not so much in sheer physical separation 
from other persons:as in freedom from the control of external social 


ISOLATION 231 


contacts, ‘Thus Rousseau constructs an ideal society in the solitude 
of his forest retreat. The lonely child enjoys the companionship of 
his imaginary comrade. George Elhot aspires to join the choir 
invisible. ‘The mystic seeks communion with divinity. 

This form of isolation within the realm of social contacts is known 
as privacy. Indeed privacy may be defined as withdrawal from the 
group, with, at the same time, ready accessto it. It is in solitude 


that the creative mind organizes theemateridls appropriated from the 


group in order to make novel and fruitful innovations. Privacy 
affords opportunity for the individual to reflect, to anticipate, to 
recast, and to originate. Practical recognition of the human demand 
for privacy has been realized in the study of the minister, the office 
of the business man, and the den of the boy. Monasteries and 
universities are institutions providing leisure and withdrawal from 
the world as the basis for personal development and preparation for 
life’s work. Other values of privacy are related to the growth of 
self-consciousness, self-respect, and personal ideals of conduct. 

Many forms of isolation, unlike privacy, prevent access to stimu- 
lating social contact. Selections under the heading ‘‘Isolation and 
Retardation”’ indicate conditions responsible for the arrest of mental 
AR EOUe OWLS) SG) jo Seiyree tae 

The cases of feral men, in the absence of contradictory evidence, 
seem adequate in support of Aristotle’s point that social contacts are 
indispensable for human development. ‘The story by Helen Keller, 
the talented and celebrated blind deaf-mute, of her emergence from 
the imprisonment of sense deprivation into the free life of commu- 
nication is a most significant sociological document. With all of us 
the change from the animal-like isolation of the child at birth to 
personal participation in the fullest human life is gradual. In Helen 
Keller’s case the transformation of months was telescoped into 
minutes. The “miracle” of communication when sociologically 
analyzed seems to consist in the transition from the experience of 
sensations and sense perceptions which man shares in common with 
animals to the development of zdeas and self-consciousness which are 
the unique attributes of human beings. 

The remaining selections upon isolation and retardation illus- 
trate the different types of situations in which isolation makes for 
retardation and retardation in turn emphasizes the isolation. The 








ae 


232 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


reversion of a man of scientific training in the solitudes of Patagonia 
to the animal level of mentality suggests that the low intelligence of 
the savage, the peasant, and the backward races is probably due 
more to the absence of stimulating contacts than to original mental 
inferiority. So the individuality and conservatism of the farmer, 
his failure to keep pace with the inhabitant of the town and city, 
Galpin assigns to deficiency in social contacts. Then, too, the 
subtler forms of handicap in personal development and achievement 
result from social types of isolation, as race prejudice, the sheltered 
life of woman, exclusiveness of social classes, and make for increased 
isolation. 

Up to this point, isolation has been treated statically as a cause. 
Under the heading, “Isolation and Segregation”’ it is conceived as 
an effect, an effect of competition, and the consequent selection and 
segregation. 

_ The first effect of the introduction of competition in 1 any Ree 
is to break up all types of isolation and provincialism based upon 
lack of communication and contact. But as competition continues, 
natural and social selection comes into play. Successful types emerge 
in the process of competitive struggle while variant individuals who 
fail to maintain the pace or conform to standard withdraw or are 
ejected from the group. Exiled variants from several groups under 
auspicious circumstances may in turn form a community where the 
process of selection will be directly opposite to that in their native 
groups. In the new community the process of selection naturally 
accentuates and perfects the traits originally responsible for exclusion. 
The outcome of segregation is the creation of specialized social types 
with the maximum of isolation. The circle of isolation is then 

mplete. 

This circular effect of the processes of Brin we lett: and 
segregation, from isolation to isolation, may be found everywhere in 
modern western society. Individual variants with criminalistic tend- 
encies exiled from villages and towns through the process of selection 
form a segregated group in city areas popularly called “‘ breeding places 
ofcrime.” The tribe of Pineys, Tin Town, The Village of a Thousand 
Souls, are communities made up by adverse selection of feeble-minded 
individuals, outcasts of the competitive struggle of intelligent, “‘high- 
minded’’? communities. The resuit is the formation of a criminal 
type and of a feeble-minded caste. ‘These slums and outcast groups 


ISOLATION 234 


are in turn isolated from*full and free communication with the pro- 
gressive outside world. 

National individuality in the past, as indicated in the selections 
upon “‘ Isolation and National Individuality,” has been in large degree 
the result of a cultural process based upon isglation. The-historical 
nations of Europe, biologically hybrid, are united by common lan- 
guage, folkways, and mores. This unity of mother tongue and culture 
is the product of historical and cultural processes ¢ircumscribed, as 
Shaler points out, by separated geographical areas. 

A closer examination of the cultural process in the life of pro- 
gressive historical: peoples reveals the interplay of isolation and 
social contacts. Grote gives a penetrating. analysis of Grecian 
achievement in terms of the individuality based on small isolated | 
land areas and the contacts resulting from maritime communication. 
The world-hegemony of English-speaking peoples today rests not 
only upon naval supremacy and material resources but even more 
upon the combination of individual development in diversified areas 

_ with large freedom in international contacts. 


——— 






II. MATERIALS 


A. ISOLATION AND PERSONAL INDIVIDUALITY 


1. Society and Solitude’ 


It had been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth 
untruth together in few words than in that speech: “‘ Whosoever 
elighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.” For it is 
most true that a natural and secret hatred and aversation towards 
society in any man hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it SS 
most untrue that it should have any character at all of the divin 

nature except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of 
a love and desire to sequester a man’s self for a higher conversation, 
such as is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the 
heathen, as Epimenides the Candian, Numa the Roman, Empedocles 
the Sicilian, and Apollonius of Tyana; and truly and really in divers 
of the ancient hermits and Holy Fathers of the Church. But little 
do men perceive»w solitude is, and how far it extendeth. Fora 
crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and 


Bacon, Essays, “Of Friendship.” 











* ° prensa 


234 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin adage 
meeteth with it a little: Magna civitas magna solitudo (“A great town 
is a great solitude’’), because in a great town friends are scattered, so 
that there is not that fellowship, for the most part, which is in less 
neighborhoods. But we may go further, and ,affirm most truly that 
it is a mere and miserable solitude to Gate’ true friends, without 
which the world is but a wilderness; and, even in this sense also of 
solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and affections is unfit 
for friendship, he taketh it of the beast and not from humanity. 


2. Society~in Solitude’ 


What period do you think, sir, I recall most frequently and most 
willingly in my dreams? Not the pleasures of my youth: they were 
too rare, too much mingled with bitterness, and are now too distant. 
I recall the period of my seclusion, of my solitary walks, of the fleet- 
ing but delicious days that I have passed entirely by myself, with 
my good and simple housekeeper, with my beloved dog, my old cat, 
with the birds of the field, the hinds of the forest, with all nature, and 
her inconceivable Author. 

But what, then, did I enjoy when I was alone? Myself; the 
entire universe; all that is; all that can be; all that is beautiful in 
the world of sense; all that is imaginable in the world of intellect. 
I gathered around me all that could delight my heart; my desires 
were the limit of my pleasures. No, never have the voluptuous known 
such enjoyments; and I have derived a hundred times more happiness 
from my chimeras than they from their realities. “ 
The wild spot of the forest [selected by, Rousseau for his solitary 
walks and meditations] could not long remain a desert to my imagina- 


pttion. I soon peopled it with beings after my own heart, and, dis- 


missing opinion, prejudice, and all factitious passions, I brought to 
these sanctuaries of nature men worthy of inhabiting them. I formed 
with these a charming society, of which I did not feel myself unworthy. 
I made a golden age according to my fancy, and, filling up these 
bright days with all the scenes of my life that had left the tenderest 
recollections, and with all that my heart still longed for, I affected 
myself to tears over the true pleasures of humanity—pleasure so 


™ Adapted from Jean Jacques Rousseau, Letter to the President de Malesherbes, 
1702. 


ISOLATION } 235 


delicious, so pure, and yet so far from men! Oh, if in these moments 
any ideas of Paris, of the age, and of my little author vanity, disturbed 
my reveries, with what contempt I drove them instantly away, to 
give myself up entirely to the exquisite sentiments with which my 
soul was filled. Yet, in the midst of all this, I confess the nothing- 
ness of my chimeras would sometimes appear, and sadden me in a 
moment. 


3. Prayer as a Form of Isolation’ 


He who prays begins his prayer with some idea of God, generally 
one that he has received rrom instruction or from current traditions. 
He commonly retires to a quiet place, or to a place having mental 
associations of religious cast, in order to ‘‘shut out the world.” ‘This 
beginning of concentration is followed by closing the eyes, which 
excludes a mass of irrelevant impressions. ‘The body bows, kneels, 
or assumes some other posture that requires little muscular tension 
and that may favor extensive relaxation. Memory now provides 
the language of prayer or of hallowed scripture, or makes vivid some 
earlier experiences of one’s own. ‘The worshiper represents to him- 
self his needs, or the interests (some of them happy ones) that seem 
most important, and he brings them into relation to God by thinking 
how God regards them. The presupposition of the whole procedure 
is that God’s way of looking at the matters in question is the true and 
important one. Around God, then, the interests of the individual 
are now freshly organized. Certain ones that looked large before the 
prayer began, now look small: because of their relation to the organ- 
izing idea upon which attention has focused. On the other hand, 
interests that express this or ganizing idea gain emotional quality 
mpeti ibiting considerations. ‘To say 
that the will now becomes organized toward unity and that it acquires 

it : onan another aspect of the one move- 

ment. ‘This movement ut lonal, emotional, and volitional con- 

centration, all in one, achieved b Ny fixation of attention upon the idea 
of God. 3 

Persons who have-been 











"7 


oe, The Psychology of Religion, pp. 311-18. 


(The University of Chic " O17.) 


236 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


merely relaxing the muscles and repeating mechanically, without 
effort at anything more, some formula descriptive of what is desired. 
The main point is that attention should fix upon the appropriate 
organizing idea. When this happens in a revival meeting one may 
find one’s self unexpectedly converted. When it happens in prayer 
one may be surprised to find one’s whole mood changed from dis- 
couragement to courage, from liking something to hating it (as in 
the case of alcoholic drinks, or tobacco), or from loneliness to the 
feeling of companionship with God. 

This analysis of the structure of prayer has already touched 
upon some of its functions. It is a way of getting one’s self together, 
of mobilizing and concentrating one’s dispersed capacities, of begetting 
the confidence that tends toward victory over difficulties. It pro- 
duces in a distracted mind the repose that is power. It freshens a 
mind deadened by routine. It reveals new truth, because the mind 
is made more elastic and more capable of sustained attention. ‘Thus 
does it remove mountains in the individual, and, through him, in the 
world beyond. 

The values of prayer in sickness, distress, and doubt are by no 
means measurable by the degree to which the primary causes thereof 
are made to disappear. ‘There is a real conquest of trouble, even 
while trouble remains. It is sometimes a great source of strength, 
also, merely to realize that one is fully understood. The value of 
having some friend or helper from whom I reserve no secrets has 
been rendered more impressive than ever by the Freud-Jung methods 
of relieving mental disorders through (in part) a sort of mental house- 
cleaning, or bringing into the open the patient’s hidden distresses 
and even his most intimate and reticent desires. Into the psychology 
of the healings that are brought about by this psychoanalysis we need 
not go, except to note that one constant factor appears to be the 
turning of a private possession into a social possession, and particularly 
the consciousness that another understands. I surmise that we shall 
not be far from the truth here if we hold that, as normal experience 
has. the ego-alter form, so the continuing possession of one’s self in 
one’s developing experience requires development of this relation. 
We may, perhaps, go as far as to believe that the bottling up of any 
experience as merely private is morbid. But, however this may be, 
there are plenty of occasions when the road tc poise, freedom, and 


237 









he prayer of confession, not 
as we are, but also because 
great value for organizing the 
from the misjudgments of others, 
e are to ourselves, for we lay our 
not err. Thus prayer has 
- social form of personal 


joy is that of social sharing. 
only because it helps us to see ourse 
it shares our secrets with another, 
self. In this way we get relie 
also, and from the mystery tha 
case, as it were, before a judge who 
value in that it develops the essential 
self-realization. 

To complete this functional view of prayer we must not fail to 
secure the evolutionary perspective. If we glance at the remote 
beginnings, and then at the hither end, of the evolution of prayer 
we discover that an immense change has taken place. It is a correlate 
of the transformed character of the gods, and of the parallel dis- 
ciplining of men’s valuations. In the words of Fosdick, prayer may 
be considered as dominant desire. But it is also a way of securing 
domination over desire. It is indeed self-assertion; sometimes it is 
the making of one’s supreme claim, as when life reaches its most 
tragic crisis; yet it is, even in the same act, submission to an over- 
self. Here, then, is our greater problem as to the function of prayer. 
It starts as the assertion of any desire; it ends as the organization of 
one’s own desires into a system of desires recognized as superior and 
then made one’s own. 


4. Isolation, Originality, and Erudition’ 


The question as to how far the world’s leaders in thought and 
action were great readers is not quite an easy one to answer, partly 
because the sources of information are sometimes scanty, and partly 
because books themselves have been few in number. If we could 
prove that since the days of Caxton the world’s total of original 
thought declined in proportion to the increase of published works, 
we should stand on firm ground, and might give orders for a holocaust 
such as that which Hawthorne once imagined. But no such proof is 
either possible or probable. We can only be impressed by the fact 
that the finest intellectual epoch of history was marked by a compara- 
tive absence of the manuscripts which were books to the Greeks, and 
if a further analysis of the lives of a t and leading in all 





‘From T. Sharper Knowls pity, pp. 173-75. (T. Werner Laurie, 





238 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


ages should show that their devotion to the books of the period was 
slight, it will only accentuate the suspicion that even today we are 
still minus the right perspective between the printed volume and the 
thinking mind. 

Buddha, Christ, St. Paul, Mohammed—these are names of men 
who changed the course of history. But do they suggest vast scholar- 
ship, or a profound acquaintance with books in any sense whatever ? 
They were great originators, even though they built on other men’s 
foundations, but their originality was not inspired by libraries. Can 
we imagine Mohammed poring over ancient manuscripts in order to 
obtain the required knowledge and impetus for his new religion? 
With Buddha was-it not 1 per cent papyrus roll and 99 per cent 
meditation? When St. Paul was struck down on the way to Damas- 
cus, he did not repair to the nearest Jewish seminary to read up 
prophecy. He says: “I went into Arabia.” The desert solitude 
was the only place in which to find a rationale of his new experience. 
And was it not in a similar life of solitude that Jesus—Essene- 
like—came to self-realization? Deane’s Pseudepigrapha: Books that 
Influenced our Lord and His Apostles does not suggest that the 
Messiah obtained his ideas from the literature of the Rabbis, much 
less from Greek or other sources; indeed, the New Testament suggests 
that in the earliest years he showed a genius for divine things. 

It wilt be urged that to restrict this inquiry to great names in 
religion would be unfair because such leaders are confessedly inde- 
pendent of literature; indeed, they are often the creators of it. True; 
but that fact alone is suggestive. If great literature can come from 
meditation alone, are we not compelled to ask: “Where shall wisdom 
be found and where is the place of understanding ?’’ Is enlighten- 
ment to be found only in the printed wisdom of the past? We know 
it is not, but we also know it is useless to set one source of truth over 
against another, as if they were enemies. ‘The soul has its place and 
so has the book; but need it be said that the soul has done more 
wonderful things than the book? Language is merely the symbol; 
the soul is the reality. 

But let us take other names with different associations—e#®,, 
Plato, Charlemagne, Caesar, Shakespeare, Napoleon, Bismarck. Can 
it be said of any one of these that he owed one-third of his dis- 
tinction to what he learned from manuscripts or books? We do 


ISOLATION 239 


know, indeed, that Bismarck was a wide reader, but it was on the 
selective principle as a student of history and affairs. His library 
grew under the influence of the controlling purpose of his life—i.e., 
the unification of Germany, so that there was no vague distribution 
of energy. Of Shakespeare’s reading we know less, but there is no 
evidence that he was a collector of books or that he was a student 
after the manner of the men of letters of his day. The best way to 
estimate him as a reader is to judge him by the references in his plays, 
and these do not show an acquaintance with literature so extensive 
as it is intensive. The impression he made on Ben Jonson, an 
all-round scholar, was not one of learning—quite otherwise. The 
qualities that impressed the author of Timber, or Discoveries upon 
Men and Matter, were Shakespeare’s ‘‘open and free nature,” his 
“excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle expressions wherein he 
flowed with that facility that sometimes it was necessary he should 
be stopped.” And, true to himself, Ben Jonson immediately adds: 
“ Sufflaminandus erat,as Augustus said of Haterius.” Shakespeare, 
when in the company of kindred spirits, showed precisely the kind of 
talk we should expect—not Latin and Greek or French and Italian 
quotations, not a commentary on books past or present, but a stream 
of conversation marked by brilliant fancy, startling comparison, 
unique contrast, and searching pathos, wherein life, not literature, 
was the chief subject. | 


, oe. ee 
~ 


B. ISOLATION AND RETARDATION 
b I. Feral Men! 


What would the results be if children born with a normal organism 
and given food and light sufficient to sustain life were deprived of 
the usual advantage of human intercourse? What psychic growth 
would be possible ? 

Perhaps no character ever aroused greater inte est than Caspar 
Hauser. More than a thousand articles si have been 
written concerning him. In the thea England, F rance, Ger- 






Solitude,” in the ecdueo nel Ser 


ninare ° VII, No. 2 (1900), 32-36. 


} 


\ 
240 INTRODUCTION TO) THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


According to a letter which he bore when found at Niirnberg one 
afternoon in es was born in 1812, left on the doorstep of a Hun- 
garian peasant’s‘ht, adopted by him, and reared in strict seclusion. 


At the time of his appearance in Niirnberg, he could walk only 


with difficulty. He knew no German, understood but little that was 
said to him, paid no heed to what went on about him, and was ignorant 
of social customs. When taken to a stable, he at once fell asleep 


on a heap of straw. In time it was learned that he had been kept © 


in a low dark cell on the ground; that he had never seen the face of 
the man who brought him food, that sometimes he went to sleep after 
the man ‘gave him a drink; that on awakening he found his nails cut 
and clean clothing on his body; and that his only playthings had been 
two wooden horses with red ribbons. 

When first found, he suffered much pain from the light, but he 
could see well at night. He could distinguish fruit from leaves on a 
tree, and read the name on a doorplate where others could see nothing 
in the darkness. He had no visual idea of distance and would grasp 
at remote objects as though they were near. He called both men and 
women Bua and all animals Rosz. His memory span for names was 
marvelous. Drawing upon the pages of Von Kolb and Stanhope, a 
writer in The Living Age says that he burned his hand in the first 
flame that he saw and that he had no fear of being struck with swords, 
but that the noise of a drum threw him into convulsions. He thought 
that pictures and statuary were alive, as were plants and trees, 
bits of paper, and anything that chanced to be in motion. He 
delighted in whistles and glittering objects, but disliked the odor 
of paint, fabrics, and most flowers. His hearing was acute and his 
touch sensitive at first, but after interest in him had lessened, all his 
senses showed evidence of rapid deterioration. He seemed to be 
wanting in sex instinct and to be unable to understand the meaning 
of religious ceremonies. Merker, who observed him secretly during 
the early days which he spent in jail, declared that he was “‘in all 
respects like a child.” Meyer, of the school at Ansbach, found him 
“dle, stupid, and vain.”” Dr. Osterhausen found a deviation from 
the normal in the shape of his legs, which made walking difficult, but 
Caspar never wearied of riding on horseback. 

His autopsy revealed a small brain without abnormalities. It 
simply gave evidence of a lack of development.’ 





ISOL. 241 






To speak of children who ha e struggle for life with 
only animals for nurses and inst to recall the rearing of 
Cyrus in a kennel sind the fabulous story of the founding of Rome. 
Yet Rauber has co lected many cases of wild men and some of them, 
taken as they are from municipal chronicles and guaranteed by 
trustworthy writers, must be accepted as authentic. 

a) The Hessian Boy. Was discovered by hunters in 1341, 
running on all fours with wolves; was captured and turned over to 
the landgrave. Was always restless, could not adapt himself to 
civilized life, and died untamed. ‘The case is recorded in the Hessian 
chronicles by Wilhelm Dilich. Rousseau refers to it in his Discours 
sur Vorigine et les fondements de linégalité parmi les hommes. 

b) The Irish Boy. Studied and described by Dr. Tulp, curator © 
of the gymnasium at Amsterdam; features animal, body covered 
with hair; lived with sheep and bleated like them; stolid, unconscious 
of self; did not notice people; fierce, untamable, and indocible; skin 
thick, sense of touch blunted so that thorns and stones were unnoticed. 
Age about sixteen. (Rauber.) 

c) The Lithuanian Boys. Three are described. The first was 
found with bears in 1657; face not repulsive nor beastlike; hair 
thick and white; skin dry and insensitive; voice a growl; greaf 
physical strength. He was carefully instructed and learned to obey 
his trainer to some degree but always kept the bear habit; ate vege- 
table food, raw flesh, and anything not containing oils; had a habit 
of rolling up in secluded places and taking long naps. The second, 
said to have been captured in 1669, is not so well described as the 
third, which Dr. Connor, in the History of Poland, says was found in 
1694. ‘This one learned to walk erect with difficulty, but was always 
leaping restlessly about; he learned to eat from a table, but mastered 
only a few words, which he spoke in a voice harsh ¢ pd inhuman. He 
showed great sagacity in wood life. ie 

d) The Girl of Cranenburg. Born in 1700; losi when sixteen 
months old; skin dark, rough, hard; understood but I 
said to Vite spoke little and stammeringly; food— pes: ) 
milk. (Rauber.) 

e) Clemens of Overdyke. This boy was 
der Ricke’s Asylum after the German strug 
knew lit id little. After careful | 









o Napoleon. “He 
y it was gathered 





242 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


that his parents were dead and that a peasant had adopted him and 
set him to herd pigs. Little food was given him, and he learned to 
suck a cow and eat grass with the pigs. At Ovérdyke he would get 
down on his hands and knees and pull up vegetables with his teeth. 
He was of low intelligence, subject to fits of passion, and fonder of 
pigs than of men." 

f) Jean de Liége. Lost at five; lived in the woods for sixteen 
years; food—roots, plants, and wild fruit; sense of smell extraordi- 
narily keen; could distinguish people by odor as a dog would recog- 
nize his master; restless in manner, and always, trying to escape. 
(Rauber.) 

g) The Savage of Aveyron. After capture, was given into the 
care of Dr. Itard by Abbé Sicard. Dermal sense duller than in 
animals; gaze wandering; language wanting and ideas few; food— 
raw potatoes, acorns, and fruit; would eagerly tear open a bird and 
eat it raw; indolent, secretive; would hide in the garden until hunger 
drove him to the kitchen; rolled in new snow like an animal; paid 
no heed to the firing of a gun, but became alert at the cracking of 
a nut; sometimes grew wildly angry; all his powers were then 
enlarged; was delighted with hills and woods, and always tried to 
escape after being taken to them; when angry would gnaw clothing 
and hurl furniture about; feared to look from a height, and Itard 
cured him of spasms of rage by holding his head out of a window; 
met all efforts to teach him with apathy, and learned but little of 
language.? 

h) The Wolf Children of India. The two cases described by a 
writer in Chambers’ Journal and by Rauber were boys of about ten 
years. Both ate raw food but refused cooked food; one never spoke, 
smiled, or laughed; both shunned human beings of both sexes, but 
would permit a dog to eat with them; they pined in captivity, and 
lived but a short time. 

z) Peter of Hanover. Found in the woods of Hanover; food— 
buds, barks, roots, frogs, eggs of birds, and anything else that he 
could get out of doors; had a habit of wandering away in the spring; 
always went to bed as soon as he had his supper; was unable to 

walk in shoes at first, and it was long before he would tolerate a 

t Anthropological Revicu! I (London, 1863), 21 ff. 

2 All the Year, XVIII, 302 ff. 3 Chambers’ Journal, L 





243 






covering for his head. Alth« 
teacher, he could never learn to spea k; he became docile, but remained 
stoical in manner; he learned to do farm work willingly unless he was 
compelled to do it; his sense of hearing and of smell was acute, and 
before changes in the weather he was sullen and irritable; he lived to 
be nearly seventy years old." 

j) The Savage of Kronstadt. Of middle size, wild-eyed, deep- 
jawed, and thick-throated; elbows and knees thick; cuticle insensi- 
tive; unable to understand words or gestures perfectly; generally 
indifferent; found 1784.? 

k) The Girl of Songi. According to Rauber, this is one of the 
most frequently quoted of feral cases. The girl came out of the 
forest near Chalons in 1731. She was thought to be nine years old. 
She carried a club in her hand, with which she killed a dog that 
attacked her. She climbed trees easily, and made niches on walls 
and roofs, over which she ran like a squirrel. She caught fish and 
ate them raw; a cry served for speech. She showed an instinct for 
decorating herself with leaves and flowers. She found it difficult 
to adapt herself to the customs of civilized life and suffered many 
fits of sickness. In 1747 she was put into a convent at Chalons. 
She learned something of the French language, of domestic science, 
and embroidery. She readily understood what was pointed out to 
her but always had certain sounds which were not understood. She 
claimed to have first begun to reflect after the beginning of her educa- 
tion. In her wild life she thought only of her own needs. She 
believed that the earth and the trees produced her, and her earliest. 
memory of shelter was of holes in the ground. 


2. From Solitude to Society‘ 


The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on 
which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am 


The Penny Magazine, II, 113. 

*Wagner, Beitradge zur philosophischen Anthropologie: Rauber, pp. 49-55. 

3 “Histoire d’une jeune fille sauvage trouvée dans les bois 4 l’4ge de dix ans,” 
Magazin der Natur, Kunst, und Wissenschaft, Leipzig, 1756, pp. 219-72; Mercure de 
France, December, 1731; Rudolphi, Grundriss der Physiologie, I, 25; Blumenbach, 
Beitrége zur Naturgeschichte, II, 38. 

4 Adapted from Helen Keller, The Story of My Life, pp. 22-24. (Doubleday, 
Page & Co., 1917.) 





244 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


filled with wonder when I consider‘ the immeasurable contrast between 
the two lives which it connects. Tt was the third of March, 1887, 
three months before I was seven years old: 

The morning after my teacher came she led me into her room and 
gave mea doll. The little blind children at the Perkins Institution 
had sent it and Laura Bridgman had dressed it; but I did not know 
this until afterward. When I had played with it a little while, 
Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word “d-o-l-l.” I 
was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it. 
When I finally succeeded in making the letters correctly I was flushed 
with childish pleasure and pride. Running downstairs to my mother 
I held up my hand and made the letters for doll. I did not know 
that I was spelling a word or even that words existed; I was simply 
making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation. In the days that 
followed I learned to spell in this uncomprehending way a great 
many words, among them pin, hat, cup and a few verbs like svt, 
stand, and walk. But my teacher had been with me several weeks 
before I understood that everything has a name. 

One day, while I was playing with my new doll, Miss Sullivan 
put my big rag doll into my lap also, spelled “d-o-l-l1” and tried to 
make me understand that ‘‘d-o-l-1” applied to both. Earlier in the 
day we had had a tussle over the words ‘‘m-u-g” and “ w-a-t-e-r.” 
Miss Sullivan had tried to impress it upon me that “m-u-g” is mug 
and that ‘“w-a-t-e-r’’ is water, but I persisted in confounding the 
two. In despair she had dropped the subject for the time, only to 
renew it at the first opportunity. I became impatient at her repeated 
attempts and, seizing the new doll, I dashed it upon the floor. I 
was keenly delighted when I felt the fragments of the broken doll 
at my feet. Neither sorrow nor regret followed my passionate out- 
burst. I had not loved the doll. In the still, dark world in which 
I lived there was no strong sentiment or tenderness. I felt my 
teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a 
sense of satisfaction that the cause of my discomfort was removed. 
She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going out into the warm 
sunshine. This thought, if a wordless sensation may be called a 
thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure. | 

We walked down the path to the well-house, attracted by the 
fragrance of the honeysuckle with which it was covered. Some 





ISOLATION 





one was diawing water and my teacher placed my hand are er the 
spout. As, the cool en gushed over one hand she. 


I felt a misty consciousness as of something fordbtien alt thrill ‘of 
returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was 
revealed to me. I knew then that “ w-a-t-e-r” meant the wonderful 
cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word 
awakened my soul, gave. it light, hope, joy, set it free! There were 
barriers still, it is true, but barriers that could in time be swept 
away. 

I left the well-house eager to learn. Everything had a name, and 
each name gave birth toa new thought. As we returned to the house 
every object which I touched seemed to quiver with life. That was 
because I saw everything with the strange, new sight that had come 
to me. On entering the door I remembered the doll I had broken. 
I felt my way to the hearth and picked up the pieces. I tried vainly 
to put them together. Then my eyes filled with tears; for I realized 
what I had done, and for the first time I felt repentance and sorrow. 

I learned a great many new words that day. I do not remember 
what they all were; but I do know that mother, father, sister, teacher, 
were among them—words that were to make the world blossom for 
me, ‘‘like Aaron’s rod, with flowers.” It would have been difficult 
to find a happier child than I was as I lay in my crib at the close of 
that eventful day and lived over the joys it had brought me, and 
for the first time longed for a new day to come. 


3. Mental Effects of Solitude’ 


I spent the greater part of one winter at a point on the Rio Negro, 
seventy or eighty miles from the sea. It was my custom to.go out 
every morning on horseback with my gun, and, followed by one dog, 
to ride away from the valley; and no sooner would I climb the terrace 
and plunge into the gray universal thicket, than I would find myself 
as completely alone as if five hundred instead of only five miles 
separated me from the valley and river. So wild and solitary and 
remote seemed that gray waste, stretching away into infinitude, a waste 


t Adapted from W. H. Hudson, “The Plains of Patagonia,” Universal Review, 
VII (1890), 551-57. 


} 


246 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


untrod len by man, and where the wild animals are so few that they 
have made no discoverable path in the wilderness of thorns. 

Not once nor twice nor thrice, but day after day I returned to 
this solitude, going to it in the morning as if to attend a festival, and 
leaving it only when hunger and thirst and the westering sun com- 
pelled me. And yet I had no object in going—no motive which could 
be put into words; for, although I carried a gun, there was nothing 
to shoot—the shooting was all left behind in the valley. Sometimes 
I would pass an entire day without seeing one mammal and perhaps 
not more than a dozen birds of any size. The weather at that time 
was cheerless, generally with a gray film of cloud spread over the sky, 
and a bleak wind, often cold enough to make my bridle hand quite 
numb. At a slow pace, which would have seemed intolerable in 
other circumstances, I would ride about for hours at a stretch. On 
arriving at a hill, I would slowly ride to its summit, and stand there 
to survey the prospect. On every side it stretched away in great 
undulations, wild and irregular. How gray it all was! Hardly less 
so near at hand than on the haze-wrapped horizon, where the hills 
were dim and the outline blurred by distance. Descending from my 
outlook, I would take up my aimless wanderings again, and visit 
other elevations to gaze on the same landscape from another point; 
and so on for hours; and at noon I would dismount and sit or lie on 
my folded poncho for an hour or longer. One day, in these rambles, 
I discovered a small grove composed of twenty or thirty trees, grow- 
ing at a convenient distance apart, that had evidently been resorted 
to by a herd of deer or other wild animals. This grove was on a 
hill differing in shape from other hills in its neighborhood; and after 
a time I made a point of finding and using it as a resting-place every 
day at noon. I did not ask myself why I made choice of that one 
spot, sometimes going miles out of my way to sit there, instead of 
sitting down under any one of the millions of trees and bushes on 
any other hillside. I thought nothing at all about it, but acted 
unconsciously. Only afterward it seemed to me that, after having 
rested there once, each time I wished to rest again the wish came 
associated with the image of that particular clump of trees, with 
polished stems and clean bed of sand beneath; and in a short ~ 
time I formed a habit of returning, animal-like, to repose at that 
same spot. 


ISOLATION 247 


It was perhaps a mistake to say that I would sit down and rest, 
since I was never tired: and yet, without being tired, that noonday 
pause, during which I sat for an hour without moving, was strangely 
grateful. All day there would be no sound, not even the rustle of 
a leaf. One day while listening to the silence, it occurred to my 
mind to wonder what the effect would be if I were to shout aloud. 
This seemed at the time a horrible suggestion, which almost made me 
shudder; but during those solitary days it was a rare thing for any 
thought to cross my mind. In the state of mind I was in, thought 
had become impossible. My state was one of suspense and watch- 
fulness; yet I had no expectation of meeting with an adventure, and 
felt as free from apprehension as I feel now when sitting in a room 
in London. The state seemed familiar rather than strange, and 
accompanied by a strong feeling of elation; and I did not know that 
something had come between me and my intellect until I returned 
to my former self—to thinking, and the old insipid existence. 

I had undoubtedly gone back; and that state of intense watch- 
fulness, or alertness rather, with suspension of the higher intellectual 
faculties, represented the mental state of the pure savage. He 
thinks little, reasons little, having a surer guide in his instincts; he 
is in perfect harmony with nature, and is nearly on a level, mentally, 
with the wild animals he preys on, and which in their turn sometimes 
prey on him. 










a Isolation and the Rural Mind? 


As an cou ation farming has dealt largely, if not exclusively, 


with the gro wt and care of plant and animal life. Broadly spcaking, 


the farmer has been engaged in a struggle with nature to produce 
certain s pl itional raw foods and human comfort materials 
in bulk. A been excused, on the whole, from the delicate 
situations ari rom the demands of an infinite variety of human 
wishes fashions, perhaps because the primary grains, 
fruits, veg ibers, animals, and animal products, have afforded 
small opportt for manipulation to satisfy the varying forms of 


* Adapted C. J. Galpin, Rural Social Centers in Wisconsin, pp. 1-3. 
(Wisconsin Experiment Station, Bulletin 234, 1913.) 





248 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


strenuous attempts to please persons, will doubtless account very 
largely, perhaps more largely than mere isolation on the land, for the 
strong individualism of the country man. 

In striking contrast, the villager and city worker have always been 
occupied in making things or parts of things out of such impres- 
sionable materials as iron, wood, clay, cloth, leather, gold, and the 
like, to fit, suit, and satisfy a various and increasingly complex set 
of human desires; or they have been dealing direct with a kaleido- 
scopic human mind, either in regard to things or in regard to troubles 
and ideals of the mind itself. This constant dealing with persons 

~in business will account even more than mere congestion of population 
for the complex organization of city life. The highly organized social 
institutions of the city, moreover, have reinforced the already keen- 
edged insight of the city man of business, so that he is doubly equipped 
to win his struggles. The city worker knows men, the farmer knows 
nature. Each has reward for his deeper knowledge, and each suffers 
some penalty for his circle of ignorance. 

Modern conditions underlying successful farm practice and profit- 
making require of the farmer a wider and more frequent contact 
with men than at any time in the past. His materials, too, have 
become more plastic, subject to rapid change by selection and breeding. 

The social problem of the farmer seems to be how to overcome the 
inevitable handicap of a social deficiency in the very nature of his 
occupation, so as to extend his acquaintance with men; and secondly, 
how to erect social institutions on the land adequate to reinforce his 
individual personality so as to enable him to cope with his perplexities. 

Occasions must be created, plans must be made, to bring people 
together in a wholesale manner so as to facilitate this interchange of 
community acquaintance. Especially is it necessary for rural chil- 
dren to know many more children. The one-room district school has 
proved its value in making the children of the neighborhood acquainted 

_with one another. One of the large reasons for the consolidated and 


centralized school is the increased size of territorial unit, with more © 


children to know one another and mingle together. | Intervisiting 
of district schools—one school, teachers and pupils, playing host to a 
half-dozen other schools, with some regularity, using plays and games, 
children’s readiest means of getting acquainted—is a successful 
means of extending acquaintance under good auspi 





».%) aE, 


ISOLATION 249 






le acquaintance—men with men, women with women, 
children V children—in a rural community once becomes a fact, 
the ini itial ster will have been taken for assuring the rise of appropriate 
social institutions on the land of that community. 


5. The Subtler Effects of Isolation’ 


The mechanics of modern culture is complicated. The individual 
has access to materials outside his group, from the world at large. 
His consciousness is built up not only by word of mouth but by the 
printed page. He may live as much in German books as in fireside 
conversation. Much more mail is handled every day in the New 
York post-office than was sent out by all the thirteen states in a year 
at the close of the eighteenth century. But by reason of poverty, 
geographical isolation, caste feeling, or “pathos,” individuals, com- 
munities, and races may be excluded from some of the stimulations 
and copies which enter into a high grade of mind. The savage, the 
Negro, the peasant, the slum dwellers, and the white woman are 
notable sufferers by exclusion. 


Easy communication of ideas favors differentiation of a rational and. 
functional sort, as distinguished from the random variations fostered by 
isolation. And it must be remembered that any sort is rational and 
functional that really commends itself to the human spirit. Even revolt 
from an ascendant type is easier now than formerly because the rebel 
can fortify himself with the triumphant records of the non-conformers of 
the past. . 

The peasant [at the middle of the nineteenth century], limited in a 
cultural respect to his village life, thinks, feels, and acts solely in the bounds 
of his native village; his thought never goes beyond his farm and his 
neighbor; toward the political, economic, or national events taking place 
outside of his village, be they of his own or of a foreign country, he is 
completely indifferent, and even if he has learned something of them, this 
is described by him in a fantastic, mythological way, and only in this adopted 
form is it added to his cultural condition and transmitted to his descendants. 
Every peasant farm produced almost exclusively for itself, only to the most 
limited extent for exchange; every village formed an economic unit, which 
stood in only a loose economic connection with the outer world. Outwardly 
complete isolation.of the village settlements and their inhabitants from 


* Adapted from W. I. Thomas, ‘“‘Race Psychology,” in the. American Journal 
of Sociology, XVII (1911-12), 744-47. 


| 
250 INYRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


each other and from the rest of the country and other classes ui «aciety; 
inwardly complete homogeneity, one and the same economic, social, and 
cultural equality of the peasant mass, no possibility of advance for the 
more gifted and capable individuals, everyone pressed down to a flat level. 
The peasant of one village holds himself, if not directly hostile, at least as 
a rule not cordial to the peasants of another village. The nobles living in 
the same village territory even wanted to force upon the peasants an 
entirely different origin, in that with the assistance of the Biblical legend 
they wished to trace him from the accursed Ham (from this the curse and 
insult Ty chamie, “Thou Ham’’), but themselves from Japhet, of better 
repute in the Bible, while they attributed to the Jews, Shem as an ancestor. 


The pathetic effect of isolation on the state of knowledge is 
recorded in many of the stories of runaway slaves: 


With two more boys, I started for the free states. We did not know 
where they were, but went to try to find them. We crossed the Potomac 
and hunted round and round and round. Some one showed us the way to 
Washington; but we missed it, and wandered all night; then we found 
ourselves where we set out. 


For our purposes race prejudice may be regarded as a form of 
isolation. And in the case of the American Negro this situation is 
aggravated by the fact that the white man has developed a deter- 
mination te keep him in isolatinn—‘“‘in his place.”” Now, when the 
isoiation is willed and-has at the same time the emotional nature of 
a tabu, the handicap is very grave indeecft*is a fact that the most 
intelligent Negroes are usually half or more than half white, but it 
is still a subject for investigation whether this is due to mixed blood 
or to the fact that they have been more successful in violating the tabu. 


The humblest white employee knows that the better he does his work, 
the more chance there is for him to rise in the business. The black employee 
knows that the better he does his work, the longer he may do it; he cannot 
often hope for promotion. 

All these careers are at the very outset closed to the Negro on a¢count 
of his color; what lawyer would give even a minor case to a Negro assistant ? 
Or what university would appoint a promising young Negro as tutor? 
Thus the white young man starts in life knowing that within some limits 
and barring accidents, talent and application will tell. The young Negro 
starts knowing that on all sides his advance is made doubly difficult, if not 
wholly shut off, by his color. 


ISOLATION 251 


In ali walks of life the Negro is liable to meet some objection to his 
presence or some discourteous treatment. If an invitation is issued to the 
public for any occasion, the Negro can never know whether he would be 
welcomed or not; if he goes he is liable to have his feelings hurt and get 
into unpleasant altercation; if he stays away, he is blamed for indifference. 
If he meet a lifelong white friend on the street, he is in a dilemma; if he 
does not greet the friend he is put down as boorish and impolite; if he does 
greet the friend he is liable to be flatly snubbed. If by chance he is intro- 
duced to a white woman or man, he expects to be ignored on the next 
meeting, and usually is. White friends may call on him, but he is scarcely 
expected to call on them, save for strictly business matters. If he gain the 
affections of a white woman and marry her he may invariably expect that 
slurs will be thrown on her reputation and on his, and that both his and her 
race will shun their compan:. When he dies he cannot be buried beside 
white corpses. 


Kelly Miller, himself a full-blooded black (for which the Negroes 
have expressed their gratitude), refers to the backwardness of the 
negro in the following terms: 


To expect the Negroes of Georgia to produce a great general like 
Napoleon when they are not even allowed to carry arms, or to deride them 
for not producing scholars like those of the Renaissance when a few years 
ago they were forbidden the use of letters, verges closely upon the outer 
rim of absurdity. Do you look for great Negro statesmen in states where 
black men are not allowed to vote? Above all, for southern white men to 
berate the Negro for failing to gain the highest rounds of distinction reaches 
the climax of cruel inconsistency. One is reminded of the barbarous 
Teutons in #ttus Andronicus, who, after cutting out the tongue and hacking 
off the hands of the lovely Lavinia, ghoulishly chided her for not calling 
for sweet water with which to wash her delicate hands. 


It is not too much to say that no Negro and no mulatto, in America 
at least, has ever been fully in the white man’s world. But we must 
recognize that their backwardness is not wholly due to prejudice. 
A race with an adequate technique can live in the midst of prejudice 
and even receive some stimulation from it. But the Negro has lost 

‘many of the occupations which were particularly his own, and is 
outclassed in others—not through prejudice but through the faster 
pace of his competitors. Se 

Obviously obstacles which discourage one race may stimulate 
another. Even the extreme measures in Russia and Roumania 


252 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


against the Jew have not isolated him. He has resources and tradi- 
tions and technique of his own, and we have even been borrowers 


a 


from him. y ae 


maadna ZZ ies et 
hfe) 


v/a C. ISOLATION AND SEGREGATION SC, 


1. Segregation as a Process" 





Within the limitations prescribed, however, the inevitable processes 
of human nature proceed to give these regions and these buildings a 
character which it is less easy to control. Under our system of indi- 
vidual ownership, for instance, it is not possible to determine in 
advance the extent of concentration of population in any given area. 
The city cannot fix land values, and we leave to private enterprise, for 
the most part, the task of determining the city’s limits and the loca- 
tion of its residential and industrial districts. Personal tastes and 
convenience, vocational and economic interests, infallibly tend to 
segregate and thus to classify the populations of great cities. In 
this way the city acquires an organization which is neither designed 
nor controlled. 

Physical geography, natural advantages, and the means of 
transportation determine in advance the general outlines of the 


urban plan. As the city increases in population, the subtler influ- . 


ences of sympathy, rivalry, and economic necessity tend to control 
the distribution of population. Business and manufacturing seek 
advantageous locations and draw around them a certain portion of 
the population. There spring up fashionable residence quarters 
from which the poorer classes are excluded because of the increased 
value of the land. Then there grow up slums which are inhabited 
by great numbers of the poorer classes who are unable to defend 
themselves from association with the derelict and vicious. In the 
course of time every section and quarter of the city takes on something 
of the character and qualities of its inhabitants. Each separate part 


of the city is inevitably stained with the peculiar sentiments of its — 


population. ‘The effect of this is to convert what was at first a mere 
geographical expression into a neighborhood, that is to say, a locality 
with sentiments, traditions, and a history of its-ewn. Within this 

t Adapted from Robert E. Park, “‘The City: Suggestions for the Investigation 
of Behavior in the City Environment,” in the American Journal of Sociology, XX 
(1915), 579-83. 





ISOLATION 253 





ntir uity of the historical processes is somehow 
maintained. ‘The past imposes itself upon the present and the life 
of every locality moves on with a certain momentum of its own, more 
or less independent of the larger circle of life and interests about it. 

In the city environment the neighborhood tends to lose much of 
the significance which it possessed in simpler and more primitive 
forms of society. The easy means of communication and of trans- 
portation, which enables individuals to distribute their attention and 
to live at the same time in several different worlds, tends to destroy 
the permanency and intimacy of the neighborhood. Further than 
that, where individuals of the same race or of the same vocation live 
together in segregated groups, neighborhood sentiment tends to fuse 
together with racial antagonisms and class interests. 

In this way physical and sentimental distances reinforce each 
other, and the influences of local distribution of the population 
participate with the influences of class and race in the evolution 
of the social organization. Every great city has its racial colonies, 
like the Chinatowns of San Francisco and New York, the Little 
Sicily of Chicago, and various other less pronounced types. In 
addition to these, most cities have their segregated vice districts, 
like that which until recently existed in Chicago, and their rendez- 
vous for criminals of various sorts. Every large city has its -occu- 
pational suburbs like the Stockyards in Chicago, and its residence 
suburbs like Brookline in Boston, each of which has the size-and the 
character of a complete separate town, village, or city, except that 
its population is a selected one. Undoubtedly the most remarkable 
of these cities within cities, of which the most interesting character- 
istic is that they are composed of persons of the same race, or of 
persons of different races but of the same social class, is East London, 
with a population of 2,000,000 laborers. 


The people of the original East London have now overflowed and 
crossed the Lea, and spread themselves over the marshes and meadows 
beyond. This population has created new towns which were formerly rural 
villages, West Ham, with a population of nearly 300,000; East Ham, with 
90,000; Stratford, with its “daughters,” 150,000; and other “‘hamlets”’ 
similarly overgrown. Including these new populations we have an aggre- 
gate of nearly two millions of people. The population is greater than that 
of Berlin or Vienna, or St. Petersburg, or Philadelphia. 





254 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It is a city full of churches and places of worship, yet there are no 
cathedrals, either Anglican or Roman; it has a sufficient supply of ele- 
mentary schools, but it has no public or high school, and it has no colleges 
for the higher education, and no university; the people all read newspapers, 
yet there is no East London paper except of the smaller and local kind. 
. .. . In the streets there are never seen any private carriages; there is 
no fashionable quarter . . . . one meets no ladies in the principal thorough- 
fares. People, shops, houses, conveyances—all together are stamped with 
the unmistakable seal of the working class. 

Perhaps the strangest thing of all is this: in a city of two millions of 
people there are no hotels! That means, of course, that there are no visitors. 


In the older cities of Europe, where the processes of segregation 
have gone farther, neighborhood distinctions are likely to be more 
marked than they are in America. East London is a city of a single 
class, but within the limits of that city the population is segregated 
again and again by racial and vocational interests. Neighborhood 
sentiment, deeply rooted in local tradition and in local custom, 
exercises a decisive selective influence upon city population and 
shows itself ultimately in a marked way in the characteristics of the 
inhabitants. 


2. Isolation as a Result of Segregation’ 


There is the observed tendency of mental defectives to congregate 
in localized centers, with resulting inbreeding. Feeble-mindedness 
is a social level and the members of this level, like those in other levels, 
are affected by social and biological tendencies, such as the con- 
gregation of like personalities and the natural selection in matings 
of persons of similar mental capacities. ‘These are general tendencies 
and not subject to invariable laws. ‘The feeble-minded are primarily 
quantitatively different from normals in mental and social qualities, 
and do not constitute a separate species. ‘The borderline types of 
high-grade feeble-minded and low-grade normals may therefore prove 
exceptions to the general rule. But such studies as Davenport and. 
Danielson’s ‘Hill Folk,’ Davenport and Estabrook’s ‘“ Nams,”’ 
Dugdale’s “Jukes,” Kostir’s ‘“Sam Sixty,” Goddard’s “ Kallikaks,”’ 
Key’s “‘Vennams”’ and “Fale-Anwals,” Kite’s ‘‘Pineys,” and many 
others emphatically prove that mental defectives show a tendency 

* Adapted from L. W. Crafts and E. A. Doll, ““The Proportion of Mental 
Defectives among Juvenile Delinquents,” in the Journal of Delinquency, II (1917), 
123-37. 


ISOLATION 255 


to drift together, intermarry, and isolate themselves from the rest 
of the community, just as the rich live in exclusive suburbs. Con- 
sequently they preponderate in certain localities, counties, and 
cities. Ina large measure this segregation is not so much an expres- 
sion of voluntary desire as it is a situation forced upon mental defec- 
tives through those natural intellectual and social deficiencies which 
restrict them to environments economically and otherwise less 
desirable to normal people. This phenomenon is most conspicuous 
in rural communities where such migratory movements as the modern 
city-drift have exercised a certain natural selection, but it is also 
plainly evident in the slums and poorer sections of the cities, both 
large and small, as any field worker will testify. Closely related to 
this factor of isolation are the varying percentages of mental defectives 
found in different states ana in different sections of the same state, 
city or community. It is therefore likely that the percentages of 
mental defectives. among different groups of juvenile delinquents 
will vary according to the particular ward, city, county, or state, 
whence the delinquents come. For this reason it is essential to any 
study of the number of mental defectives in a group of juvenile 
delinquents coming from a particular locality, that some idea should 
be available as to the. probable or approximate number of mental 
defectives in that community. If more mental defectives are found 
among the population in the slum quarter of a city than in the resi- 
dential quarter, it is to be expected that there will be more mental 
defectives in groups of juvenile delinquents from the slum quarter, 
because, in the first place, they constitute a larger proportion of the 
population, and because, secondly, of their greater proneness to social 
offenses. Moreover, the prevalence of the feeble-minded in certain 
localities may affect the attitude of the law-enforcing machinery 
toward the children of that community. — cm 
A further result of the innate characteristics and tendencies of 
the feeble-minded is to be found in the effect upon them of the biologi- 
cal law of natural selection, resulting froz1 the - universal struggle for 
existence and the survival of the fittest. We n eed not discuss here 
its profound influences, economic and. ain vise, v upon the lives of the 
mentally defective in general, but it will be profitah le t review briefly 
the effect of natural selection upon the juvenile ‘Jelinquent group. 
Any group of delinquents is subject to this select ion from the times 
of offenses to final commitment. It underdaa ao onstant sifting 












256 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


process whose operation is mainly determined by the natural con- 
fey of the group members; a large proportion of the “lucky,” 
the intelligent, or the socially favored individuals escape from the 
group, so that the remaining members of the group are the least fit 
socially and intellectually. The mentally defective delinquents con- 
stitute an undue proportion of this unfit residue, for although they 
may receive as many favors of chance as do their intellectually normal 
fellow-delinquents, they cannot, like them, by reason of intelligence 
or social status, escape the consequences of their delinquent acts. 
Furthermore, the feeble-minded offender is caught oftener than are 
his more clever and energetic companions of normal endowments, 
and after apprehension he is less likely to receive the benefits of police 
and court prejudices, or the advantages of family wealth and social 
influence. If placed on probation he is more likely to fail, because 
of his own weaknesses and his unfavorable environment. Hence 
the feeble-minded delinquent is much more likely to come before 
the court and also to be committed to a reformatory, jail, or industrial 
school than is his companion of normal mind. ‘Therefore practically 
every group of juvenile delinquents which ultimately reaches commit- 
ment will have a very different aspect with regard to its proportion 
of mental defectives from that larger group of.offenders, apprehended 
or non-apprehended, of which it was once a part. In fact, it is doubt- 
ful if any group of apprehended, detained, or probationed offenders 
can be said to be representative, or at least to be exactly repre- 
sentative, of the true proportion of mental defectives among all 
delinquents. Except where specific types of legal procedure bring 
about the elimination of the defectives, it seems as if it must inevitably 
result that the operation of natural selection will continually increase 
the proportion of mental defectives above that existing in the original 
group. 

This factor of natural selection has not to our knowledge been 
given adequate consideration in any published investigation on 
delinquency. But if our <stimate of its effects is at all justified, 
then most examinations of juvenile delinquents, especially in reform 
and industrial schools, have disclosed proportions of mental defec- 
tives distinctly in excess of the original proportion previously existent 
among the entire mass of all offenders. The reports of these examina- 
tions have given. .ise to quite erroneous impressions concerning the 


| 


rs 


ISOLATION 257 


extent of criminality among the feeble-minded and its relation to the 
whole volume of crime, and have consequently led to in@ecurate 
deductions. The feeble-minded are undoubtedly more prone to 
commit crime than are the average normals; but through disregard 
of the influences of this factor of natural selection, as well as of others, 
both the proportion of crime committed by mental defectives and the 
true proportion of mental defectives among delinquents and criminals 
have very often been exaggerated. 


D. ISOLATION AND NATIONAL INDIVIDUALITY © a a 


1. Historical Races as Products of Isolation’ 


The continent of Europe differs from the other great land-masses 
in the fact that it is a singular aggregation of peninsulas and islands, 
originating in separate centers of mountain growth, and of enclosed 
valleys walled about from the outer world by elevated summits. 
Other continents are somewhat peninsulated; Asia approaches 
Europe in that respect; North America has a few great dependencies 
in its larger islands and considerable promontories; but Africa, 
South America, and Australia are singularly united lands. 

The highly divided state of Europe has greatly favored the 
development within its area of isolated fields, each fitted for the 
growth of a separate state, adapted even in this day for local life 
although commerce in our time binds lands together in a way which 
it did not of old. These separated areas were marvelously suited 
to be the cradles of peoples; and if we look over the map of Europe we 
readily note the geographic insulations which that remarkably varied 
land affords. 

Beginning with the eastern Mediterranean, we have the peninsula 
on which Constantinople stands—a region only partly protected 
from assault by its geographic peculiarities; and yet it owes to its 
partial separation from the mainlands on either side a large measure 
of local historic development. Next, we have Greece and its asso- 
ciated islands, which—a safe stronghold for centuries—permitted the 
nurture of the most marvelous life the world has ever known. Farther 
to the west the Italian peninsula, where during three thousand years 


* Adapted from N. S. Shaler, Nature and Manin America, pp. 151-66. (Charles 
Scribner’s Sons, 1900.) 


258 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the protecting envelope of the sea and the walls of Alps and Apennines 
have enabled a score of states to attain a development; where the 
Roman nation, absorbing, with its singular power of taking in other 
life, a number of primitive centers of civilization, grew to power which 
made it dominant in the ancient world. Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, 
have each profited by their isolation, and have bred diverse qualities 
in man and contributed motives which have interacted in the earth’s 
history. Again, in Spain we have a region well fitted to be the 
cradle of a great people; to its geographic position it owed the fact 
that it became the seat of the most cultivated Mahometanism the 
world has ever known. ‘To the Pyrenees, the mountain wall of the 
north, we owe in good part the limitation of that Mussulman invasion 
and the protection of central Europe from its forward movement, 
until luxury and half-faith had sapped its energies. Going north- 
ward, we find in the region of Normandy the place of growth of that 
fierce but strong folk, the ancient Scandinavians, who, transplanted 
there, held their ground, and grew until they were strong enough 
to conquer Britain and give it a large share of the quality which belongs 
to our own state. 

To a trifling geographic accident we owe the isolation of Great 
Britain fim the European centinent; and all the marvelous history 
of the English folk, as we all know, hangs upon the existence of that 
narrow strip of sea between the Devon coast and the kindred lowlands 
of northern France. 

East of Britain lie two peninsulas which have been-the cradle 
of very important peoples. That of Sweden and Norway is the 
result of mountain development; that of Denmark appears to be in 
the main the product of glacial and marine erosion, differing in its 
non-mountainous origin from all the other peninsulas and islands 
of the European border. ‘Thus on the periphery of Europe we have 
at least a dozen geographical isolated areas, sufficiently large and 
well separated from the rest of the world to make them the seats of 
independent social life. The interior of the country has several 
similarly, though less perfectly, detached areas. Of these the most 
important lie fenced within the highlands of the Alps. In that 
extensive system of mountain disturbances we have the geographical 
concitions which most favor the development of peculiar divisions 
of men, and which guard such cradled peoples from the destruction 


ISOLATION 259 


which so often awaits them on the plains. Thus, while the folk of 
the European lowlands have been overrun by the successive tides 
of invasion, their qualities confused, and their succession of social 
life interrupted, Switzerland has to a great extent, by its mountain 
walls, protected its peoplé.from the troubles to which their lowland 
neighbors have been gubjected. The result is that within an area 
not twice as large as Massachusetts we find a marvelous diversity 
of folk, as is shown by the variety in physical aspect, moral quality, 
language, and creed in the several important valleys and other 
divisions of that complicated topography. 

After a race has bee). formed and bred to certain qualities within 
a limited field, after it has come to possess a certain body of character- 
istics which gives it its particular stamp, the importance of the original 
cradle passes away. ‘There is something very curious in the per- 
manence of race conditions after they have been fixed for a thousand 
years or so ina people. When the assemblage of physical and mental 
motives are combined in a body of country folk, they may endure 
under circumstances in which they could not have originated; thus, 
even in our domesticated animals and plants, we find that varieties 
created under favorable conditions, obtaining their inheritances in 
suitable conditions, may then flourish in many conditions of environ- 
ment in which they could not by any chance have originated. The 
barnyard creatures of Europe, with their established qualities, may 
be taken to Australia, and there retain their nature for many genera- 
tions; even where the form falls away from the parent stock, the 
decline is generally slow and may not for a great time become apparent. 

This fixity of race characteristics has enabled the several national 
varieties of men to go forth from their nurseries, carrying the qualities 
bred in their earlier conditions through centuries of life in other climes. 
The Gothic blood of Italy and of Spain still keeps much of its parent 
strength; the Aryan’s of India, though a world apart in its conditions 
from those which gave it character in its cradle, is still, in many of 
its qualities, distinctly akin to that of the home people. Moor, Hun 
and Turk—all the numerous folk we find in the present condi- 
tion of the world so far from their cradle-lands—are still to a great 
extent what their primitive nurture made them. On this rigidity 
which comes: to mature races in the lower life as well as in man, 
depends the vigor with which they do their appointed work. 


260 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


2. Geographical Isolation and Maritime Contact" 


Greece, considering its limited total extent, offers butlittle motive, 
and still less of convenient means, for internal communication among 
its various inhabitants. Each village or township occupying its 
plain with the inclosing mountains, supphied its own main wants, 
whilst the transport of commodities by lan &: sufficiently difficult 
to discourage greatly any regular commerce with neighbors. In so 
far as the face of the interior country was concerned, it seemed as 
if nature had been disposed from the beginning to keep the population 
of Greece socially and politically disunited by providing so many 
hedges of separation and so many boundaries, generally hard, some- 
times impossible, to overleap. One special motive to intercourse, 
however, arose out of this very geographical constitution of the 
country, and its endless alternation of mountain and valley. The 
difference of climate and temperature between the high and low 
grounds is very great; the harvest is secured in one place before it is 
ripe in another, and the cattle find during the heat of summer shelter 
and pasture on the hills, at a time when the plains are burnt up. The 
practice of transferring them from the mountains to the plain accord- 
ing to the change of season, which subsists still as it did in ancient 
times, is intimately connected with the structure of the country, 
and must from the earliest period have brought about communication 
among the otherwise disunited villages. 

Such difficulties, however, in the internal transit by land were 
to a great extent counteracted by the large proportion of coast and 
the accessibility of the country by sea. The prominences and indenta- 
tions in the line of Grecian coast are hardly less remarkable than the 
multiplicity of elevations and depressions which everywhere mark 
the surface. There was no part of Greece proper which could be 
considered as out of reach of the sea, while most’ parts of it were 
convenient and easy of access. As the only communication between 
them was maritime, so the sea, important even if we look to Greece 
proper exclusively, was the sole channel for transmitting ideas and 
improvements, as well as for maintaining sympathies—social, politi- 
cal, religious, and literary—throughout these outlying members of 
the Hellenic aggregate. 








hee big from George Grote, History of Greece, II, 149-57. ‘(John Murray, 
1888. 


ISOLATION 201 


The ancient philosophers and legislators were deeply impressed 
with the contfast between an inland and a maritime city: in the 
former, simplicity and uniformity of life, tenacity of ancient habits 
and dislike of what is new or foreign, great force of exclusive sym- 
pathy and narrow range bo objects and ideas; in the latter, variety 
and novelty of sensailp , expansive imagination, toleration, and 
occasional bopaetel sk ernie customs, greater activity of the 
individual and corresponding mutability of the state. This distinc- 
tion stands prominent in the many’comparisons instituted between 
the Athens of Periclés and the Athens of the earlier times down to 
Solon. Both Plato and Aristotle dwell upon it emphatically—and 
the former especially, whose genius conceived the comprehensive 
scheme of prescribing beforehand afd insuring in practice the whole 
course of individual thought and rorbiig in his imaginary community, 
treats maritime communication, if pushed beyond the narrowest 
limits, as fatal to the success and permanence of any wise scheme of 
education. Certain it is that a great difference of character existed 
between those Greeks who mingled much in maritime affairs and those 
who did not. The Arcadian may stand as a type of the pure Grecian 
Jandsman, with his rustic and illiterate habits—his diet of sweet 
chestnuts, barley cakes, and pork (as contrasted with the fish which 
formed the chief seasoning for the bread of an Athenian)—his superior 
courage and endurance—his reverence for Lacedaemonian headship 
as an old and customary influence—his sterility of intellect and 
imagination as well as his slackness in enterprise—his unchange- 
able rudeness of relations with the gods, which led him to scourge 
and prick Pan if he came back empty-handed from the chase; while 
the inhabitant of Phokaea or Miletus exemplifies the Grecian mariner, 
eager in search of gain—active, skilful, and daring at sea, but inferior 
in steadfast bravery on land—more excitable in imagination as 

well as more mutable in character—full of pomp and expense in 
— religious manifestations toward the Ephesian Artemis or the Apollo 
of Branchidae: with a mind more open to the varieties of Grecian 
energy and to the refining influences of Grecian civilization. 

The configuration of the Grecian territory, so like in many 
respects to that of Switzerland, produced two effects of great moment 
upon the character and history of the people. In the first place, it 
materially strengthened their powers of defense: it shut up the 







262 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


country against those invasions from the interior which successively 
subjugated all their continental colonies; and it at the same time 
rendered each fraction more difficult to be attacked by the rest, so 
as to exercise a certain conservative influence in assuring the tenure 
of actual possessors: for the pass of opylae between Thessaly 
and Phokis, that of Kithaeron between Bogetia and Attica, or the 
mountainous range of Oneion and Geraneia along the Isthmus of 
Corinth, were positions which an inferior number of brave men could 
hold against a much greater force of assailants. But, in the next 
place, while it tended to protect each section of Greeks from being 
conquered, it also kept them politically disunited and perpetuated 
their separate autonomy. It fostered that powerful principle of 
repulsion, which disposed even the smallest township to constitute 
itself a political unit apart from the rest, and to resist all idea of 
coalescence with others, either amicable or compulsory. Toa modern 
reader, accustomed to large political aggregations, and securities for 
good government through the representative system, it requires a 
certain menta! effort to transport himself back to a time when even 
the smallest town clung so tenaciously to its right of self-legislation. 
Nevertheless, such was the general habit and feeling of the ancient 
world, throughout Italy, Sicily, Spain, and Gaul. Among the Hellens 
it stands out more conspicuously, for several reasons—first, because 
they seem to have pushed the multipiication of autonomous units to 
an extreme point, seeing that even islands not larger. than Peparethos 
and Amorgos had two or three separate city communities; secondly, 
> because they produced, for the first time in the history of mankind, 
acute systematic thinkers on matters of government, amongst all 
of whom the idea of the autonomous city was accepted as the indis- 
pensable basis of political speculation; thirdly, because this incurable 
/ subdivision proved finally the cause of their ruin, in spite of pro- 
nounced intellectual superiority over their conquerors; and lastly, 
7 because incapacity of political coalescence did not preclude a power- 
ful and extensive sympathy between the inhabitants of all the separate 
cities, with a constant tendency to fraternize for numerous purposes, 
social, religious, recreative, intellectual, and aesthetical. For these 
reasons, the indefinite multiplication of self-governing towns, though 
in truth a phenomenon common to ancient Europe as contrasted 
with the large monarchies of Asia, appears more marked among the 





ISOLATION 263 


ancient Greeks than elsewhere; and there cannot be any doubt that 
they owe it, ip a considerable degree, to the multitude of insulating 
boundaries which the configuration of their country presented. 

Nor is it rash to suppose that the same causes may have tended 
to promote that unborrowed intellectual development for which 
they_stand so_conspicuous{~ General propositions respecting the 
working of climate and physical agencies upon character are indeed 
treacherous; for our knowledge of the globe is now sufficient to 
teach us that heat and cold, mountain and plain, sea and land, moist 
and dry atmosphere, are all consistent with the greatest diversities 
of resident men: moreover, the contrast between the population of 
Greece itself, for the seven centuries preceding the Christian era, and 
the Greeks of more modern times, is alone enough to inculcate reserve 
in such speculations. Nevertheless we may venture to note certain 
improving influences, connected with their geographical position, 
at a time when they had no books to study, and no more advanced 
predecessors to imitate. | 

We may remark, first, that their position made them at once 
mountaineers and mariners, thus supplying them with great variety 
of objects, sensations, and adventures; next, that each petty com- 
munity, nestled ; apart amidst its own rocks, was sufficiently severed 
from the rest to possess an individual life and attributes of its own, 
yet not so far as to subtract it from the sympathies of the remainder; 
so that an observant Greek, commercing with a great diversity of 
half-countrymen, whose language he understood, and whose idiosyn- 
crasies he could appreciate, had access to a larger mass of social and 
political experience than any other man in so unadvanced an age 
could personally obtain. The Phcenician, superior to the Greek on © 
shipboard, traversed wider distances and saw a greater number 
of strangers, but had not the same means of intimate communion 
with a multiplicity of fellows in blood and language. His relations, 
confined to purchase and sale, did not comprise that mutuality of 
action and reaction which pervaded the crowd at a Grecian festival. 
The scene which here presented itself was a mixture of uniformity 
and variety highly stimulating to the observant faculties of a-man 
of genius—who at the same time, if he sought to communicate his 
own impressions, or to act upon this mingled and diverse audience, 
was forced to shake off what was peculiar to his own town or 






unlettered authors of the old epic. Such periodical int nte 
of brethren habitually isolated from each other was 
then open of procuring for the bard a diversified range © of xpe es: 
and a many-colored audience; and it was to a great degree the result 
of geographical causes. Perhaps among other nations such facili- 
tating causes might have been found, yet without producing any 
results comparable to the Iliad and Odyssey. But Homer was never- 
theless dependent upon the conditions of his age, and we can at least 
point out those peculiarities in early Grecian society without which 
Homeric excellence would never have existed—the geographical 
position is one, the language another. 


3. Isolation as an Explanation of National Differences 


To decide between race and environment as the efficient cause of 
any social phenomenon is a matter of singular interest at this time. 
A school of sociological writers, dazzled by the recent brilliant dis- 
coveries in European ethnology, show a decided inclination to sink 
the racial explanation up to the handle in every possible phase of 
social life in Europe. It must be confessed that there is provocation 
for it. So persistent have the physical characteristics of the people 
shown themselves that it is not surprising to find theories of a corre- 
sponding inheritance of mental attributes in great favor. : 

This racial school of social philosophers derives much of its data 
- from French sources. For this reason, and also because our anthropo- 
logical knowledge of that country is more complete than for any other 
part of Europe, we shall confine our attention primarily to France. 
In the unattractive upland areas of isolation is the Alpine broad- 
headed race common to central Europe. At the north, extending 
down in a broad belt diagonally as far as Limoges and along the coast 
of Brittany, there is intermixture with the blond, long-headed Teu- 
tonic race; while along the southern coast, penetrating up the Rhone 
Valley, is found the extension of the equally long-headed but brunet 


* From William Z. Ripley, The Races of Europe, pp. 515-30. (D. Appleton 
& Co., 1899.) 


ISOLATION 265 






Mediterranean stock. These ethnic facts correspond to physical 
ones; th reas of geographical isolation are distinct centers of 


association is so many-sided, so fundamental, so pregnant for the 
future. For this reason we may properly begin our study by an 
examination of a phenomenon which directly concerns the ‘stability 
of the domestic institution—viz., divorce. What are the facts as to 
its distribution in France? Marked variations between different 
districts occur. Paris is at-one extreme; Corsica, as always, at the 
other. Of singular interest to us is the parallel which at once appears 
between this distribution of divorce and that of head form. The 
areas of isolation peopled by the Alpine race are characterized by 
almost complete absence of legal severance of domestic relations 
between husband and wife. 

Do the facts instanced above have any ethnic significance? Do 
they mean that the Alpine type, as a race, holds more tenaciousiy 
than does the Teuton to its family traditions, resenting thereby the 
interference of the state in its domestic institutions? A foremost 
statistical authority, Jacques Bertillon, has devoted considerable 
space to proving that some relation between the two exists. Con- 
fronted by the preceding facts, his explanation is this: that the 
people of the southern departments, inconstant perhaps and fickle, 
nevertheless are quickly pacified after a passionate outbreak of any 
kind. Husband and wife may quarrel, but the estrangement is 
dissipated before recourse to the law can take place. On the other 
hand, the Norman peasant, Teutonic by race, cold and reserved, 
nurses his grievances for a long time; they abide with him, smoldering 
but persistent. ‘‘Words and even blows terminate quarrels quickly 
in the south; in the north they are settled by the judge.” From 
similar comparisons in other European countries, M. Bertillon draws 
the final conclusion that the Teutonic race betrays a singular prefer- 
ence for this remedy for domestic ills. It becomes for him an ethnic 
trait. 

Another social phenomenon has been laid at the door of the 
Teutonic race of northern Europe; one which even more than divorce 
is directly the concomitant of modern intellectual and economic 


266 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


progress. We refer to suicide. Morselli devotes a chapter of his 
interesting treatise upon this subject to proving that ‘‘the purer the 
German race—that is to say, the stronger the Germanism (e.g., 
Teutonism) of a country—the more it reveals in its psychical char- 
acter an extraordinary propensity to self-destruction.” 

Consider for a moment the relative frequency of suicide with 
reference to the ethnic composition of France. ‘The parallel between 
the two is almost exact in every detail. There are again our three 
areas of Alpine racial occupation—Savoy, Auvergne, and Brittany— 
in which suicide falls annually below seventy-five per million inhabit- 
ants. There, again, is the Rhone Valley and the broad diagonal 
strip from Paris to Bordeaux, characterized alike by strong infusion 
of Teutonic traits and relative frequency of the same social phe- 
nomenon. 

Divorce and suicide will serve as examples of the mode of proof 
adopted for tracing a number of other social phenomena to an ethnic 
origin. ‘Thus Lapouge attributes the notorious depopulation of large 
areas in France to the sterility incident upon intermixture between 
the several racial types of which the population is constituted. This 
he seeks to prove from the occurrence of a decreasing birth-rate in 
all the open, fertile districts where the Teutonic elemint has inter- 
mingled with the native population. Because wealth happens to be 
concentrated in the fertile areas of Teutonic occupation, it is again 
assumed that this coincidence demonstrates either a peculiar acquisi- 
tive aptitude in this race or else a superior measure of frugality. 

By this time our suspicions are aroused. ‘The argument is too. 
simple. Its conclusions are too far-reaching. By this we do not 
mean to deny the facts of geographical distribution in the least. It 
is only the validity of the ethnic explanation which we deny. We 
can do better for our races than even its best friends along such lines 
of proof. With the data at our disposition there is no end to the 
racial attributes which we might saddle upon our ethnic types. Thus, 
it would appear that the Alpine type in its sterile areas of isolation 
was the land-hungry one described by Zola in his powerful novels. 
For, roughly speaking, individual land-holdings are larger in them 
on the average than among the Teutonic populations. Peasant 
proprietorship is more common also; there are fewer tenant farmers. 
Crime in the two areas assumes a different aspect. We find that 


@ ISOLATION 267 


among populations of Alpine type, in the isolated uplands, offenses 
against the person predominate in the-criminal calendar. In the 
Seine basin, along the Rhone Valley, wherever the Teuton is in evi- 
dence, on the other hand, there is less respect for property; so that 
offenses against the person, such as assault, murder, and rape, give 
place to embezzlements, burglary, and aoe It might just as well 
be argued that the Teuton shows a predilection for offenses against 
property; the native Celt an equal propensity for crimes against the 
person. 

Appeal to the social geography of other countries, wherein the 
ethnic balance of power is differently distributed, may be directed 
against almost any of the phenomena we have instanced in France as 
seemingly of racial derivation. In the case either of suicide or clivorce, 
if we turn from France to Italy or Germany, we instantly perceive 
all sorts of contradictions. The ethnic type, which is so immune from 
propensity to self-destruction or domestic disruption in France, 
becomes in Italy most prone to either mode of escape from ternporary 
earthly ills. For each phenomenon culminates in frequency in the 
northern half of the latter country, stronghold of the Alpine race. 
Nor is there an appreciable infusion of Teutonism, physically speak- 
ing, herein, to account for the change of heart. Of course, it might 
be urged that this merely shows that the Mediterranean race of. 
southern Italy is as much less inclined to the phenomenon t:han the 
Alpine race in these respects, as it in turn lags behind the Teuton. 
For it must be confessed that even in Italy neither divorce nor suicide 
is so frequent anywheie as in Teutonic northern France. Weil, then, 
turn to Germany. Compare its two halves in these respects again. 
The northern half of the empire is most purely Teutonic by race; 
the southern is not distinguishable ethnically, as we have scught to 
prove, from central France. Bavaria, Baden, and Wiirtemberg are 
scarcely more Teutonic by race than Auvergne. Do we find differ- 
ences in suicide, for example, following racial boundaries here ? Far 
from it; for Saxony is its culminating center; and Saxony, as we 
know, is really half-Slavic at heart. as is also eastern Prussia. Suicide 
should be most frequent in Schleswig-Holstein and Hanover, ii: racial 
causes were appreciably operative. The argument, in fact, falls to 
pieces of its own weight, as Durkheim has shown. His conclusion 
is thus stated: 








268 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 4 


“Tf the Germans are more addicted to suicide, it is not because of 
the blood in their veins, but of the civilization in which they have 
been raised.” 

A summary view of the class of social phenomena seemingly 
characteristic of the distinct races in France, if we extend our field of 
vision to cover all Europe, suggests an explanation for the curious 
coincidences and parallelisms noted above, which is the exact oppo- 
site of the racial one. 

Our theory, then, is this: that most of the social phenomena we 
have noted as peculiar to the areas occupied by the Alpine type are 
the necessary outcome, not of racial proclivities but rather of the 
\_ geographical and social isolation characteristic of the habitat of this 
race The ethnic type is still pure for the very same reason that 
social phenomena are primitive. Wooden ploughs pointed with 
stone, blood revenge, an undiminished birth-rate, and relative purity 
of physical type are all alike derivatives from a common cause, 
isolation, directly physical and coincidently social. We discover, 
primarily, an influence of environment where others perceive phe- 
nomena of ethnic inheritance. 


4. Natural versus Vicinal Location in National Development’ 


In contradistinction to continental and intercontinental location, 
anthropogeography recognizes two other narrower meanings of the 
term. ‘The innate mobility of the human race, due primarily to the 
eternal food-quest and increase of numbers, leads a people to spread 
out over a territory till they reach the barriers which nature has set 
up, or meet the frontiers of other tribes and nations. Their habitat 
or their specific geographic location is thus defined by natural features . 
of mountain, desert, and sea, or by the neighbors whom they are 
unable to displace, or more often by both. 

A people has, therefore, a twofold location, an immediate one, 
based upon their actual territory, and a mediate or vicinal one, grow- 
ing out of its relations to the countries nearest them. The first is a 
question of the land under ‘their feet; the other, of the neighbors 
about them. The first or natural Tocation embodies the complex 
of local geographic conditions which furnish the basis for their tribal 
or national existence. This basis may be a peninsula, island, archi- 


tAdapted from Ellen C. Semple, Influences of Geographic Environment, 
pp. 132-33. (Henry Holt & Co., 1911.) 


6 ISOLATION | 269 


pelago, an oasis, an arid steppe, a mountain system, or a fertile 
lowland. The stronger the vicinal location, the more dependent 
is the people upon the neighboring states, but the more potent the 
influence which it can, under certain circumstances, exert upon them. 
Witness Germany in re:ation to Holland, France, Austria, and Poland. 
The stronger the natural location, on the other hand, the more inde- 
pendent is the people and the more strongly marked is the national 
character. ‘This is exemplified in the people of mountain lands like 
Switzerland, Abyssinia, and Nepal; of peninsulas like Korea, Spain, 
and Scandinavia; and of islands like England and Japan. Today 
we stand amazed at that strong primordial brand of the Japanese 
character which nothing can blur or erase. 

Clearly defined natural locations, in which barriers of mountains 
and sea draw the boundaries and guarantee some degree of isolation, 
tend to hold their people in a calm embrace, to guard them against 
Gutside interference and infusion of foreign blood, and thus to make 
them develop the national genius in such direction as the local 
geographic conditions permit. In the unceasing movements which 
have made up most of the historic and prehistoric life of the human 
race, in their migrdations.. and counter-migrations, their incursions, 
retreats, and expansions over the face of the earth, vast unfenced 
areas, like the open lowlands of Russia and the grasslands of Africa, 
present the picture of a great thoroughfare swept by pressing throngs. 
Other regions, more secluded, appear as quiet nooks, made for a 
temporary halt or a permanent rest. Here some part of the passing ~ 
human flow is caught as in a vessel and held till it crystallizes into 
a nation. These are the conspicuous areas of race characteriza- 
tion. The development of the various ethnic and political offspring 
of the Roman Empire in the naturally defined areas of Italy, the 
Iberian Peninsula, and France illustrates the process of national 
differentiation which goes on in such secluded locations. 


II. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. Isolation in Anthropogeography and Biology 


A systematic treatise upon isolation as a sociological concept 
remains to be written. The idea of isolation as a tool of investigation 
has been fashioned with more precision in geography and in biology 
than in sociology. 


270 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Research in human geography has as its object the study of man 
in his relations to the earth. Students of civilization, like Montes- 
quieu and Buckle, sought to explain the culture and behavior of 
peoples as the direct result of the physical environment. Friedrich 
Ratzel with his “thorough training as a naturalist, broad reading, 
and travel” and above all, his comprehensive knowledge of ethnology, 
recognized the importance of direct effects, such as cultural isolation. 
Jean Brunhes, by the selection of small natural units, his so-called 
‘islands,’ has made intensive studies of isolated groups in the oases 
of the deserts of the Sub and of the Mzab, and in the high mountains 
of the central Andes. 

Biology indicates isolation as one of the factors in the origin of 
the species. Anthropology derives the great races of mankind—the 
Caucasian, the Ethiopian, the Malay, the Mongolian, and the Indian— 
from geographical separation following an assumed prehistoric dis- 
persion. A German scholar, Dr. Georg Gerland, has prepared an 
atlas which plots differences in physical traits, such as skin color 
and hair texture, as indicating the geographical distribution of races. 


2. fsolation and Social Groups 


Anthropogeographical and biological investigations have pro- 
ceeded upon the assumption, implicit or explicit, that the geographic 
environment, and the physical and mental traits of races and indi- 
viduals, determine individual and collective behavior. What investi- 
gations in human geography and heredity actually demonstrate is 
that the geographic environment and the original nature of man 
condition the culture and conduct of groups and of persons. ‘The 
explanations of isolation, so far as it affects social life, which have 
gained currency in the writings of anthropologists and geographers, 
are therefore too simple. Sociologists are able to take into account 
forms of isolation not considered by the students of the physical 
environment and of racial inheritance. Studies of folkways, mores, 
culture, nationality, the products of a historical or cultural process, 
discloce types of social contact which transcend the barriers of geo- 
graphical or racial separation, and reveal social forms of isolation 
which prevent communication where there is close geographical 
contact or common racial bonds. 

The literature upon isolated peoples ranges from investigations 
of arrest of cultural development as, for example, the natives of 





ISOLATION 271 


Australia, the Mountain Whites of the southern states, or the inhabit- 
ants of Pitcairn Island to studies of hermit nations, of caste systems 
as in India, or of outcast groups such as feeble-minded “‘tribes”’ or 
hamlets, fraternities of criminals, and the underworld of commer- 
cialized prostitution. Special research in dialects, in folklore, and in 
provincialism shows how spatial isolation fixes differences in speech, 
attitudes, folkways, and mores which, in turn, enforce isolation even 
when geographic separation has disappeared. 

-The most significant contribution to the study of isolation from 
the sociological standpoint has undoubtedly been made by Fishberg 
in a work entitled The Jews, a Study of Race and Environment. The 
author points out that the isolation of the Jew has been the result 
of neither physical environment nor of race, but of social barriers. 
‘Judaism has been preserved throughout the long years of Israel’s 
dispersion by two factors: its separative ritualism, which prevented 
close and intimate contact with non-Jews, and the iron laws of the 
Christian theocracies of Europe which encouraged and _ enforced 
‘isolation.’ ’””! 


3. Isolation and Personality 


Philosophers, mystics, and religious enthusiasts have invariably 
stressed privacy for meditation, retirement for ecstatic communion 
with God, and withdrawal from the contamination of the world. In 
1784-86 Zimmermann wrote an elaborate essay in which he dilates 
‘upon ‘‘the question whether it is easier to live virtuously in society 
or jn solitude,” considering in Part I “the influence of occasional 
retirement upon the mind and the heart” and in Part II “the 
pernicious influence of a total exclusion from society upon the mind 
and the heart.” 

Actual research upon the effect of isolation upon personal devel- 
opment has more of future promise than of present accomplishment. 
The literature upon cases of feral men is practically all of the anecdotal 
type with observations by persons untrained in the modern scientific 
mechod. One case, however, ‘“‘the savage of Aveyron” was studied 
intensively by Itard, the French philosopher and otologist who cher- 
ished high hopes of his meatal and social development. After five 
years spent in a patient and varied but futile attempt at education, 
he confessed his bitter disappsxintment. “Since my pains are lost 


t Fishberg, op. cit., p. 555. 


a7. INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and efforts fruitless, take yourself back to your forest and primitive 
tastes; or if your new wants make you dependent on society, suffer the 
penalty of being useless, and go to Bicétre, there to die in wretchedness.”’ 

Only second in importance to the cases of feral men are the 
investigations which have been made of the results of solitary con- 
finement. Morselli, in his well-known work on Swicide, presented 
statistics showing that self-destruction was many times as frequent 
’ ‘among convicts under the system of absolute isolation as compared 
with that of association during imprisonment. Studies of Auburn 
prison in New York, of Mountjoy in England, and penal institutions 
on the continent show the effects of solitary incarceration in the 
increase of cases of suicides, insanity, invalidism, and death. 

Beginnings have been made in child study, psychiatry, and 
psychoanalysis of the effects of different types of isolation upon 
personal development. Some attention has been given to the study 
of effects upon mentality and personality of physical defects such 
as deaf-mutism and blindness. Students of the so-called “morally 
defective child,” that is the child who appears deficient in emotional 
and sympathetic responses, suggest as a partial explanation the 
absence in infancy and early childhood of intimate and sympathetic 
contacts with the mother. An investigation not yet made but of 
decisive bearing upon this point will be a comparative study of children 
brought up in families with those reared in institutions. 

Psychiatry and psychoanalysis in probing mental life and person- 
ality have related certain mental and social abnormalities to isolation 
from social contact. Studies of paranoia and of egocentric personali- 
ties have resulted in the discovery of the only or favorite child 
complex. The exclusion of the boy or girl in the one-child family 
from the give and take of democratic relations with brothers and 
sisters results, according to the theory advanced, in a psychopathic 
personality of the self-centered type. A contributing cause of homo- 
sexuality, it is said by psychoanalysts, is the isolation during child- 
hood from usual association with individuals of the same sex. Research 
in dementia praecox, discloses a symptom and probably a cause of 
this mental malady to be the withdrawal of the individual from 
normal social contacts and the substitution of an imaginary for a real 
world of persons and events. Dementia praecox has been related | 
by one psychoanalyst to the “shut-in” type of personality. 


ISOLATION 273 


The literature on the subject of privacy in its relation to personal 
development is fragmentary but highly promising for future research. 
The study of the introspective type of personality suggests that self- 
analysis is the counterpart of the inhibition of immediate and impul-- 
sive self-expression in social relations. Materials for an understanding 
of the relation of retirement and privacy to the aesthetic, moral, and 
creative life of the person may be found in the lives of hermits, 
inventors, and religious leaders; in the studies of seclusion, prayer, — 
and meditation; and in research upon taboo, prestige, and attitudes 


of superiority and inferiority. PA ) 
\ 


BIBLIOGRAPHY: MATERIALS FOR THE STUDY OF ISOLATION me, 


I. CHARACTERISTIC SENTIMENTS AND ATTITUDES OF THE 
ISOLATED PERSON 


(1) Zimmermann, Johann G. Solitude. Or the effects of occasional 
retirement on the mind, the heart, general society. Translated from 
the German. London, 1827. 

(2) Canat, René. Une forme du mal du siécle. Du sentiment de la soli- 
tude morale chez les romantiques et les parnassiens. Paris, 1904. 

(3) Goltz, E. von der. Das Gebet in der aeltesten Christenheit. Leipzig, 
IQOI. 

(4) aioe, Anna L. A Consideration of Prayer from the Standpoint of 
Social Psychology. Chicago, 1908. 

(5s) Hoch, A. “On Some of the Mental Mechanisms in Dementia 
Praecox,” Journal of Abnormal Psychology, V (1910), 255-73. [Astudy 
of the isolated person. ] 

“~~ (6) Se: E.W. “Only Child,” Pedagogical Seminary, V (1897-08), 
VA Rea ah Se 

(7) Beil, A. A. Psychanalysis. Its theories and practical application. 
“The Only or Favorite Child in Adult Life,’ pp. 253-65. 2d rev. ed 
Philadelphia and London, 1014. 

(8) Neter, Eugen. Das einzige Kind und seine Erziehung. Ein ernstes 
Mahnwort an Eltern und Erzieher. Miinchen, ror. 

(9) Whiteley, Opal S. The Story of Opal. Boston, 1920. 

(10) Delbriick, A. Die pathologische Liige’ und die psychisch abnormen 
Schwindler. Stuttgart, r8ar. 
—~(11) Healy, Wm. Pathological Lying. Boston, 1915. 
(12) Dostoévsky, F. The House of the Dead; or, Prison Life in Siberia. 
Translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett. New York, rors. 
_ (x3) Griffiths, Arthur. Secrets of the Prison House, or Gaol Studies and 
Sketches, 1, 262-80. London, 1894. 
® (14) Kingsley, Charles. The Hermits. London and New York, 1871. 
(1s) Baring-Gould, S. Lives of Saints. 16 vols. Rev. ed. Edinburgh, 
‘ 1916. [See references i in index to hermits.| 
_ (16) Varendonck, J. The Psychology of Day-dreams. London, 1921. 


4 


‘ 





274 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


WI. TYPES OF ISOLATION AND TYPES OF SOCIAL GROUPS 


(1) Fishberg, Maurice. The Jews. A study of race and environment. 
London and New York, rort. 

(2) Gummere, Amelia M. The Quaker. A study in costume. Philadel- 
phia, 19ot. - 

__(3) Webster, Hutton. Primitive Secret Societies. A study in early politics 
and religion. New York, 1go8. 

(4) Heckethorn, C.W. The Secret Societies of all Ages and Countries. A 
comprehensive account of upwards of one hundred and sixty secret 
organizations—teligious, political, and social—from the most remote 
ages down to the present time. 2 vols. New ed., rev. and enl. 
London, 1897. 

(s) Fosbroke, Thomas D. British Monachism, or Manners and Customs 

of the Monks and Nuns of England. London, 1817. 

46) Wishart, Alfred W. A Short History of Monks and Monasteries. Tren- 
ton, N.J., 1900. [Chap.1i, pp. 17-70, gives an account of the monk as a 
type of human nature.| 


IM. GEOGRAPHICAL ISOLATION AND CULTURAL AREAS 


(1) Ratzel, Friedrich. Politische Geographie; oder, Die Geographie der 
Staaten, des Verkehres und des Krieges. 2d ed. Miinchen, 1903. 

(2) Semple, Ellen. Influences of Geographic Environment, on the Basis of 
Ratze!’s System of Anthropogeography. Chap. xii, “Island Peoples,” 
pp. 409--72.- New York, 1911. [Bibliography.] 

(3) Brunhes, Jean. Human Geography. An attempt at a positive classi- 

fication, principles, and examples. 2d ed. Translated from the 

French by T. C. LeCompte. Chicago, 1920. [See especially chaps. 

vi, vii, and viii, pp. 415—-569.] 

Vallaux, Camille. La Mer. (Géographie Sociale.) Populations 

maritimes, migrations, péches, commerce, domination de la mer. 

Chap. ili, ‘Les isles et insularité.”” Paris, 1908. 

(5) Gerland, Georg. Atlas der Vélkerkunde. Gotha, 1892. [Indicates* 
the geographical distribution of differences in skin color, hair form, 
clothing, customs, languages, etc.] 

(6) Ripley, William Z. The Races of Europe. A sociological study. New 
York, 1899. 

(7) Campbell, John C. The Southern Highlander and His Homeland. 
New York, Russell Sage Foundation, 1921. [Bibliography.] 

(8) Barrow, Sir John. A Description of Pitcairn’s Island and Its Inhabit- 
ants. With an authentic account of the mutiny of the ship “Bounty 
and of the subsequent fortunes of the mutineers. New York, 1832. 

(9) Routledge, Mrs. Scoresby. The Mystery of Easter Island. The story 
of an expedition. Chap. xx, ‘‘ Pitcairn Island.’”’ London, rg19. 

_(10) Galpin, Charles J. Rural Life. New York, 1918. 


IV. LANGUAGE FRONTIERS AND NATIONALITY 


(1) Dominian, Leon. The Frontiers of Language and Nationality in Europe. 
New York, 1917. [Bibliography, pp. 348-56.] 

(2) Auerbach, Bertrand. Les Races et les nationalités en Autriche-H ongrie. 
adivemmied.: Paris; ton7s 


ed 


(4) 


ISOLATION 275 






(3) Berni ,L. Das polnische Gemeinwesen im preussischen Staat. Die 
age. Leipzig, 1910. 
(4) Bourgoing, P. de. Les guerres d’idiome et de nationalité, Tableaux, 


esque ‘et souvenirs d’histoire contemporaine. Paris, 1849. 

(5) Cambridge Modern History, Vol. XI, “The Growth of Nationalities.” 
Cambridge, 1909. 

(6) Meillet, A. ‘“‘Les Langues et les Nationalités,” Scientia, XVIII 
(Sept., 1915), 192-201. 

(7) Pfister, Ch. “La limite de la langue francaise et de la langue allemande 
en Alsace-Lorraine,” Considérations historiques. Bull. Soc. Géogr. de 
VEst, Vol. XII, 1890. 

(8) This, G. ‘Die deutsch-franzdsische Sprachgrenze in Lothringen,” 
Beitrdge zur Landes- und Volkskunde von Elsass-Lothringen, Vol. I, 
Strassburg, 1887. 

“Die deutsch-franzésische Sprachgrenze in Elsass,” ibid., 





(9) 
1888. 


V. DIALECTS AS A FACTOR IN ISOLATION 


(1) Babbitt, Eugene H. “College Words and Phrases,” Dialect Notes, 


II (1900—1904), 3-70. 
(2) “The English of the Lower Classes in New York City and 
(3) 





Vicinity,” Dialect Notes, Vol. I, Part ix, 1896. 
ae The Geography of the Great Languages, ” World’s Work, 
Feber s (1907-8), 9903-7. 

(4) Churchill, William. Beqch-la-mar: the J Se or Trade Speech of the 
Western Pacific. Washington, tort. 

(5) Dana, Richard H., Jr. A Dictionary of Sor Terms. London, 1841. 

(6) Elliott, A. M. “Sheech- Mixture in French Canada: English and 
French,” American Journal of Philology, X (1889), 133. 

(7) Flaten, Nils. ‘‘Notes on American-Norwegian with a Vocabulary,” 
Dialect Notes, II (1900-1904), 115-26. 

(8) Harrison, James A. ‘“‘Negro-English,” Transactions and Proceedings 
American Philological Association, XVI (1885), Appendix, pp. xxxi- 
XXxill. 

(9) Hempl, George. ‘‘Language-Rivalry and Speech-Differentiation in 
the Case of Race-Mixture,” Transactions and Proceedings of the Ameri- 
can Philological Association, XXIX (1808), 31-47. 

(ro) Knortz, Karl. Amerikanische Redensarten und Volksgebréuche. Leip- 
zig, 1907. 

(11) Letzner, Karl. Wdrterbuch der englischen Volkssprache Australiens und 
der englischen Mischsprachen. Halle, 18or. 

(12) Pettman, Charles. Africanderisms. A glossary of South African 
colloquial words and phrases and of place and other names. London 
and New York, 1913. 

(13) Ralph, Julian. “The Language of the Tenement-Folk,” Harper’s 
Weekly, XLI (Jan. 23, 1897), 90. 

(14) Skeat, Walter W. English Dialects from the Eighth Century to the 
Present Day. Cambridge, rort. 

(15) Yule, Henry, and Burnell, A. C. Hobson-Jobson. A glossary of 

colloquial Anglo-Indian words and phrases, and of kindred terns, 





276 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 
etymological, historical, geographical, and discursive: new ed. by 
Wm. Crooke, London, 1903. m 
[See bibliography, “Slang, Argot, and Universes of Discourse,” pp. 
428-29.| 





VI. PHYSICAL DEFECT AS A FORM OF ISOLATION 


(1) Bell, Alexander G. ‘‘Memoir upon the Formation of a Deaf Variety 
of the Human Race.” National Academy of Sciences, Memoirs, II, 
177-262. Washington, D.C., 1884. 

(2) Fay, Edward A. Marriages of the Deaf in America. An inquiry con- 
cerning the results of marriages of the deaf in America. Washington, 
D,.Giy F893: 

(3) Desagher, Maurice. “La timidité chez les aveugles,”’ Revue philo- 
sophique, LX XVI (1913), 2690-74. 

(4) Best, Harry. The Deaf . Their position in society and the provision 
for their education in the United States. New York, 1o14. 

(5) The Blind. Their condition and the work mee done for 

them in the United States. New York, ror19. 








VII. FERAL MEN 


(1) Rauber, August. Homo Sapiens Ferus; oder, Die Zusténde der 
Verwilderten und ihre Bedeutung fiir Wissenschaft, Politik, und Schule. 
Leipzig, 1885. 

(2) Seguin, Edward. Idiocy and Its Treatment by the Physiological Method, 
pp. 14-23. New Yousk, 1866. 

(3) Bonnaterre, J.P. Notice historique sur le sauvage de P Aveyron, et sur 
quelques autres individus qu’on a trouvés dans les foréts a différentes 
époques. Paris, 1800. 

(4) Itard, Jean E.M.G. Deléducation d’un homme sauvage, et des premiers 
developpements physiques et moraux du jeune sauvage de l Aveyron, 
pp. 45-46. Paris, 1801. 

(5) Feuerbach, Paul J. A. von. Caspar Hauser. An account of an indi- 
vidual kept in a dungeon from early childhood, to about the age of 
seventeen. Translated from the German by H.G.Linberg. London, 
1834. 

(6) Stanhope, Philip Henry [4th Earl]. Tracts relating to Caspar Hauser. 
Translated from the original German. London, 1836. 

(7) Lang, Andrew. Historical Mysteries. London, 1904. 

(8) Tredgold, A. F. Mental Deficiency. “Isolation Amentia,” pp. 297-305. 
3d rev. ed. New York, 1920. 


[See bibliography, ‘“The Industrially Handicapped,” pp. 568-69.| 
TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


1. Isolation as a Condition of Originality 

2. The Relation of Social Contact and of Isolation to Historic Inventions 
and Discoveries, as the Law of Gravitation, Mendelian Inheritance, 
the Electric Light, etc. 


~~ 


T4. 
ES: 


ISOLATION 277 


. Isolated Types: the Hermit, the Mystic, the Prophet, the Stranger, 


and the Saint 


. Isolation, Segregation, and the Physically Defective: as the Blind, the 


Deaf-Mute, the Physically Handicapped 


. Isolated Areas and Cultural Retardation: the Southern Mountaineer, 


Pitcairn Islanders, the Australian Aborigines 


. “Moral” Areas, Isolation, and Segregation: City Slums, Vice Dis- 


tricts, “‘Breeding-places of Crime” 


. The Controlled versus the Natural process of Segregation of the 


Feeble-minded 


. Isolation and Insanity 
. Privacy in the Home 

IO. 
Lin 
12. 


re 


Isolation and Prestige 

Isolation as a Defence against the Invasion of Personality 
Nationalism as a Form of Isolation 

Biological and Social Immunity: or Biological Immunity from Infec- 
tion, Personal or Group Immunity against Social Contagion 

The Only Child 

The Pathological Liar Considered from the Point of View of Isolation 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. Is the distinction between isolation and social contact relative or 


absolute ? 


. What illustrations of the various forms of isolation, spatial, structural, 


habitudinal, and psychical, occur to you? 


. By what process does isolation cause racial differentiation ? 
. What is the relation of endogamy and exogamy (a) to isolation, and 


(b) to the establishment of a successful stock or race ? 


. In what ways do the Jews and the Americans as racial types illustrate 


the effects of isolation and of contact ? 


6. What do you understand to be Bacon’s definition of solitude ? 


on 


Io. 
II. 


12. 


13. 


. What is the point in the saying ‘“‘A great town is a great solitude”? 
. What is the sociology of the creation by a solitary person of imaginary 


companions ? 


. Under what conditions does an individual prefer solitude to society ? 


Give illustrations. 

What are the devices used in prayer to secure isolation? 

“Prayer has value in that it develops the essentially social form of 
personal self-realization.”” Explain. 

What are the interrelations of social contact and of privacy in the 
development of the ideal self ? 

What do you understand by the relation of erudition to originality ? 


278 
T4. 
Ese 


TO: 
yp 


18. 


TQ. 


20. 
21. 
PHP 


23% 
aA% 


25. 
26. 


27, 
28. 


29. 
30. 


31. 
ey} 


33. 
34. 
35: 


36. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In what ways does isolation (a) promote, (>) impede originality? 
What other factors beside isolation are involved in originality ? 

What is the value of privacy ? 

What was the value of the monasteries ? 

What conclusions do you derive from the study of the cases of feral 
men? Do these cases bear out the theory of Aristotle in regard to the 
effect of isolation upon the individual ? 

What is the significance of Helen Keller’s account of how she broke 
through the barriers of isolation ? 

What were the mental effects of solitude described by Hudson? How 
do you explain the difference between the descriptions of the effect of 
solitude in the accounts given by Rousseau and by Hudson? 

How does Galpin explain the relation of isolation to the development of 
the “rural mind” P 

What are the effects of isolation upon the young man or young woman 
reared in the country ? 

Was Lincoln the product of isolation or of social contact ? 

To what extent are rural problems the result of isolation ? 

What do you understand by Thomas’ statement, ‘‘The savage, the 
Negro, the peasant, the slum dwellers, and the white woman are 
notable sufferers by exclusion” ? 

What other of the subtler forms of isolation occur to you? 

Is isolation to be regarded as always a disadvantage ? 

What do you understand by segregation as a process ? 

Give illustrations of groups other than those mentioned which have 
become segregated as a result of isolation. 


‘How would you describe the process by which isolation leads to the 


segregation of the feeble-minded ? 

Why does a segregated group, like the feeble-minded, become an 
isolated group ? 

What are other illustrations of isolation resulting from segregation ? 
How would you compare Europe with the other continents with refer- 
ence to number and distribution of isolated areas ? 

What do you understand to be the nature of the influence of the cradle 
land upon ‘‘the historical race”’ ? 

What illustrations from the.Great War would you give of the effects 
(a) of central location; (0) of peripheral location ? | 

How do you explain the contrast between the characteristics of the 
inhabitants of the Grecian inland and maritime cities ? 

To what extent may (a) the rise of the Greek city state, (b) Grecian 
intellectual development, and (c) the history of Greece, be interpreted 
in terms of geographic isolation ? 


37: 


38. 


39- 


40. 
AI. 
42. 


ISOLATION 279 


To what extent can you explain the cultural retardation of Africa, as 
compared with European progress, by isolation ? 

Does race or isolation explain more adequately the following cultural 
differences for the several areas of France—divorce, intensity of suicide, 
distribution of awards, relative frequency of men of letters? 

What is the relation of village and city emigration and immigration to 
isolation ? 

What is the difference between a natural and a vicinal location ? 

In what ways does isolation affect national development ? 

What is the relation of geographical position in area to literature ? 


wy. 
i 


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av 


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CHAPTER V 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Preliminary Notions of Social Contact _ 


The fundamental social process is that of interaction. This inter- 
action is (a) of persons with persons, and (6) of groups with groups. 
The simplest aspect of interaction, or its primary phase, is contact. 
Contact may be considered as the initial stage of interaction, and 
preparatory to the later stages. The phenomena of social contact 
require analysis before proceeding to the more difficult study of the 
mechanism of social interaction. 

“With whom am I in contact ?”? Common sense has in stock 
ready answers to this question. 

There is, first of all, the immediate circle of cantact through the 
senses. ‘Touch is the most intimate kind of contact. Face-to-face 
relations include, in addition to touch, visual and auditory sensations» 
Speech and hearing by their very nature establish a bond of contact 
between persons. 

Even in common usage, the expression “social contact” is 
employed beyond the limits fixed by the immediate responses of 
touch, sight, and hearing. Its area has expanded to include con- 
nection through all the forms of communication, i.e., language, letters, 
and the printed page; connection through the medium of the tele- 
phone, telegraph, radio, moving picture, etc. ‘The evolution of 
the devices for communication has taken place in the fields of two 
senses alone, those of hearing and seeing. Touch remains limited 
to the field of primary association. But the newspaper with its 
elaborate mechanism of communication gives publicity to events in 
London, Moscow, and Tokio, and the motion pictyre unreels to our 
gaze scenes from distant lands and foreign peoples with all the illusion 
of reality. 

The frontiers of social contact are farther extended to the widest 
horizons, by commerce. The economists, for example, include in 


280 





& 


CONTACTS 281 








‘the intricate and complex maze of relations 


their conception of s h 
tion and aa cenenin of individuals and 


created by the comp 
societies within the lir . 
of unconscious as well as conscious Bebsiedil thaddericesd in the concept 
of social relations brings into ‘‘contact” the members of a village 
missionary society with the savages of the equatorial regions of 
Africa; or the pale-faced drug addict, with the dark-skinned Hindu 
laborers upon the opium fields of Benares; or the man gulping down 
coffee at the breakfast table, with the Java planter; the crew of the 
Pacific freighter and its cargo of spices with the American whole- 
saler and retailer in food products. In short, everyone is in a real, 
though concealed and devious, way in contact with every other 
person in the world. Contacts of this type, remote from the familiar 
experiences of everyday life, have reality to the intellectual and the 
mystic and are appreciated by the masses only when co-operation 
breaks down, or competition becomes conscicus and passes into 
conflict. 

These three popular meanings of contacts emphasize (1) the 
intimacy of sensory responses, (2) the extension of contact through 
devices of communication based upon sight and hearing, and (3) the 
solidarity and interdependence created and maintained by the fabric 
of social life, woven as it is frorn the intricate and invisible strands 
of human interests in the process of a world-wide competition and 
co-operation. 


2. The Sociological Concept of Contact 


The use of the term “contact” in sociology is not a departure 
from, but a development of, its customary significance. In the 
preceding chapter the point was made that the distinction between 
isolation and contact is not absolute but relative. Members of a 
society spatially separate, but socially in 1 contact through sense 
perception and through communication of ideas, may be thereby 
mobilized to collective behavior. Sociological interest in this situa- 
tion lies in the fact that the various kinds of social contacts between 


persons and groups determine behavior. The student of problems / 


of American society, for example, realizes the necessity of under 
standing the mutual reactions involved in the contacts of the foreir 
and the native-born, of tk nd the negro, and of Se 





~ 


ge 


282 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and employees. In other words, contact, as the first stage of social 
interaction, conditions and controls the later stages of the process. 

It is convenient, for certain purposes, to conceive of contact in 
terms of space. The contacts of persons and of groups may then 
be plotted in units of social distance. This permits graphic repre- 
sentation of relations of sequence and of coexistence in terms both of 
units of separation and of contact. This spatial conception may now 
be applied to the explanation of the readings in social contacts. 


3. Classification:of the Materials 


In sociological literature there have grown up certain distinctions 
between types of social contacts. Physical contacts are distin- 


e te ‘ . ° . Ce ay 9 : 
guished from social contacts; relations within the ‘in-group”’ are 


<9 Bae ) 


perceived to be different from relations with the(“out-group”; con- 
tacts of historical continuity are compared with contacts of mobility;_ 


~— — mated 
———— ~s — = 


primary contacts are set off from secondary contacts. How far and 
with what advantage may these distinctions be stated in spatial 
terms? 

@) Land as a basis for social contacts—The position of persons 
and peoples on the earth gives us a literal picture of the spatial. 
conception of social contact. The cluster of homes in the Italian 
agricultural community suggests the difference in social life in com- 
parison “vith the isolated homesteads of rural America. A gigantic 
spot map-of the United States upon which every family would be 
indicated by a dot would represent schematically certain different 
conditions influencing group behavior in arid areas, the open country, 
hamlets, villages, towns, and cities. The movements of persons 
charted with detail sufficient to bring out variations in the daily, 
weekly, monthly, and yearly routine, would undoubtedly reveal 
interesting identities and differences in the intimacy and intensity 
of social contacts. it would be possible and profitable to classify 
people with reference to the routine of their daily lives. | 

b) Touch as the physiological basis of social contact.—According 


to the spatial conception the closest contacts possible are those of 


touch. The physical proximity involved in tactile sensations is, 
however, but the symbol of the intensity of the reactions to contact. 
Desire and aversion for contacts, as Crawley shows in his selection, 
arise in the most intimate relations of human life. Love and hate, 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 283 


longing and disgust, sympathy and hostility increase in intensity 
with intimacy of association. It is a current sociological fallacy that 
closeness of contact results only in the growth of good will. The 
fact is, that with increasing contact ‘either attraction or repulsion 
may be the outcome, depending upon the situation and upon factors 
not yet fully analyzed. Peculiar conditions of contact, as its pro- 
longed duration, its frequent repetition, just as in the case of isolation 
from normal association, may lead to the inversion of the original 
impulses and sentiments of affection and antipathy.’ 

c) Contacts with the “in-group” and with the “ out-group.”—The 
conception of the we-group in terms of distance is that of a group 
in which the solidarity of units is so complete that the movements 
and sentiments of all are completely regulated with reference to their 
interests and behavior as a group. This control by the in-group, 
over its members makes for solidity and impenetrability in its re- 
lations with the out-group. Sumner in his Folkways indicates how 
internal sympathetic contacts and group egotism ‘result in double 
standards of behavior: good-will an and _co-operation within the mem-_ 
bers of the in-group, hostility and suspicion. t toward the out-group. 
and its-members. | The essential point i is perhaps best brought out” 
by Shaler in his distinction between sympathetic and categoric con- 
tacts. He describes the transition from contacts of the out-group 
to those of the in-group, or from remote to intimate relations. From 
a distance, a person has the characteristics of his group, upon -lose 
acquaintance he reveals his individuality. 

d) Historical continuity and mobility.—Historical continuity, 
- which maintains the identity of the present with the past, implies 
the existence of a body of tradition which is transmitted from the 
older to the younger generations. Through the medium of tradition, 
including in that term all the learning, science, literature, and prac- 
tical arts, not to speak of the great body of oral tradition which is 
after all a larger part of life than we imagine, the historical and 


t Alexander Pope, in smooth lines, and with apt phrases, has concretely 
‘described this process of perversion: 


“Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As to be hated needs but to be seen; 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.” 





284 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY’ 


cultural life is maintained. This is the meaning of the long period 
of childhood in man during which the younger generation is living 
under the care and protection of the older. When, for any reason, 
this contact of the younger with the older generation is interrupted— 
as is true in the case of immigrants—a very definite cultural deteriora- 
tion frequently ensues. | 
Contacts of mobility are those of a changing present, and measure 
the number and variety of the stimulations which the social life and 


movements—the discovery of the hour, tie book of the moment, the. 


passing fads and fashions—afford. Contacts of mobility give us 
novelty and news. It is through contacts of this sort that change 
takes place. . dye 

__ Mobility, accordingly, measures not merely the social contacts 
that one gains from travel and exploration, but the stimulation and 
suggestions that come to us through the medium of communication, 
by which sentiments and ideas are put in social circulation. ‘Through 
the newspaper, the common man of today participates in the social 
movements of his time. His illiterate forbear of yesterday, on the 
other hand, lived unmoved by the currens af world-events outside 
his hamlet. The ¢empo of modern societies may be measured com- 
paratively by the relative perfection of devices of communication 
and the rapidity of the circulation of sentiments, opinions, and facts. 
Indeed, the efficiency of any society or of any group is to be measured 
not alone in terms of numbers or of material resources, but also in 
terms of mobility and access through communication and publicity 
to the common fund of tradition and culture. 

e) Primary and secondary contacts.—Primary contacts are those 
of “intimate face-to-face association”; secondary contacts are those 
of externality and greater distance. A study of primary association 
indicates that this sphere of contact falls into two areas: one of 
intimacy and the other of acquaintance. In the diagram which 
follows, the field of primary contacts has been subdivided so that it 
includes («) a circle of greater intimacy, (y) a wider circle of acquaint- 
anceship. The completed chart would appear as shown on page 285. 

Primary contacts of the greatest intimacy are (a) those represented 
by the affections that ordinarily spring up within the family, par- 
ticularly between parents and children, husband and wife; and (6) 
those of fellowship and affection outside the family as between lovers, 





SOCIAL CONTACTS ' 285 


bosom friends, and boon companions. These relations are all mani- 
festations of a craving for response. These personal relationships 
are the nursery for the development of human nature and personality. 
John Watson, who studied several hundred new-born infants in the 
psychological laboratory, concludes that “the first few years are the 
_all-important ones, for shaping the emotional life of the child.” 
The primary virtues and ideals of which Cooley writes so sympatheti- 
cally are, for the most part, projections from family life. Certainly 
in*these most intimate relations of life in the contacts of the family 
circle, in the closest friendships, personality is most severely tried, 
realizes its most characteristic expressions, or is most completely 
disorganized. 





















ots the contacts of touch and 
e natural area of primary 
1ent of secondary contacts. 
; contact with each other 
In the village “everyone 

Canons of conduct are 
nt, the status of the family and 
idary association individuals are in 
r two points in their lives. In 
ymous; at best he is generally 
his life. Standards of behavior 


olph Meyer, and W, I. Thomas, ‘‘Prac- 
inct and Habit,” Suggestions of Modern 


Just as the life of the family repyre 
response, the neighborhood or the vi 
contacts and the city the rae 


286 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


are relative; the old primary controls have disappeared; the new 
secondary instruments of discipline, necessarily formal, are for the 
most part crude and inefficient; the standing of the family and of 
the individual is uncertain and subject to abrupt changes upward or 
downward in the social scale. 

Simmel has made a brilliant contribution in his analysis of the 
sociological significance of “the stranger.” ‘The stranger” in the 
socivlogical sense is the individual who unites in his social relations 
primary and secondary contacts. Simmel himself employs the con- 
ception of social distance in his statement of the stranger as the 
combination of the near and the far. It is interesting and signifi- 
cant to determine the different types of the union of intimacy and 
externality in the relations of teacher and student, physician and 
patient, minister and layman, lawyer and client, social worker and 
applicant for relief. 

A complete analysis of the bearing upon personal and cultural 
life of changes from a society based upon contacts of continuity and 
of primary relations to a-society of increasing mobility organized 
around secondary contacts cannot be given here. Certain of the 
most obvious contrasts of the transition may, however, be stated. 
{Increasing mobility of persons in society almost inevitably leads to 
_change and therefore to loss of continuity. In primary groups, 
where social life moves slowly, there is a greater sense of continuity 
than in secondary groups wheke it moves rapidly. 

There is a further contrast if not conflict between direct and 
intimate contacts and contacts based upon communication of ideas. 
All sense of values, as Windelband has pointed out,! rests upon con- 
crete experience, that is to say upon sense contacts. Society, to the 
extent that it is organized about secondary contacts, is based upon 
abstractions, upon science and teclinique. Secondary contacts of 
this type have only secondary values because they represent means 
rather than ends. Just as all behavion arises in sense impressions it 
must also terminate in sense impressions) to realize its ends and attain: 
its values. The effect of life in a society based on secondary contacts 
is to build up between the impulse and) its end a world of means, 
to project values into the future, and to direct life toward the reali- 
zation of distant hopes. / 


™See Introduction, pp. 8-10. 


\ 


SOCIAL coy s 287 


The ultimate effect upon the individual as he becomes accommo- 
dated to secondary society is to find a substitute expression for his 
primary response in the artificial physical environment of the city. 
The detachment of the person from intimate, direct, and spontaneous 
contacts with social reality is in large measure responsible for the 
intricate maze of problems of urban life. 

The change from concrete and personal to abstract and imper- 
sonal relations in economic and social life began with the Industrial 
Revolution. The machine is the symbol of the monotonous routine 
of impersonal, unskilled, large-scale production just as the hand tool 
is the token of the interesting activity of personal, skilled, handi- 
craft work. The so-called “instinct of workmanship” no longer finds 
expression. in the anonymous standardized production of modern 
industry." 

It is not in industry alone that the natural impulses of the person 
for response, recognition, and self-expression are balked. In social 
work, politics, religion, art, and sport the individual is represented 
now by proxies where formerly he participated in person. All the 
forms of communal activity in which all persons formerly shared 
have been taken over by professionals. The great mass of men in 
most of the social activities of modern life are no longer actors, but 
spectators. The average man of the present time has been relegated 
by the influence of the professional politician to the rédle of taxpayer. 
In social work organized charity has come between the giver and 
the needy. 

In these and other manifold ways the artificial conditions of city 
life have deprived the person of most of the natural outlets for the 
expression of his interests and his energies. To this fact is to be 
attributed in large part the restlessness, the thirst for novelty and 
excitement so characteristic of modern life. This emotional unrest 
has been capitalized by the newspapers, commercialized recreations, 
fashion, and agitation in their appeal to the sensations, the emotions, 
and the instincts loosened from the satisfying fixations of primary- 
group life. The raison d’étre of social work, as well as the funda- 
mental problem of all social institutions in city life must be understood 
in its relation to this background. 


«Thorstein Veblen, Tie Instinct of Workmanship, and the State of the Indus- 
trial Arts. (New York, 1914.) 


VA J 
aa 
f xs we 


288 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Il MATERIALS 
A. PHYSICAL CONTACT AND SOCIAL CONTACT 
1. The Frontiers of Social Contact? 


Sociology deals especially with the phenomena of contact. ‘The 
reactions which result from voluntary or involuntary contact of 
human beings with other human beings are the phenomena peculiarly 
“social,” as distinguished from the phenomena that belong properly 
to biology and psychology. 

In the first place, we want to indicate, not the essence of the 
social, but the location, the sphere, the extent, of the social. If we 
can agree where it is, we may then proceed to discover what it is. 
The social,»then, is the term next beyond the individual. _Assuming, 
for the sake of analysis, that our optical illusion, ‘‘the individual,” is 
an isolated and self-sufficient fact, there are many sorts of scientific 
problems that do not need to go beyond this fact to satisfy their 
particular terms. Whether the individual can ever be abstracted 
from his conditions and remain himself is not a question that we 
need here discuss. At all events, the individual known to our experi- 
ence is not isolated. He is connected in various ways with one or 
more individuals. The different ways in which individuais are con- 
nected with each other are indicated by the inclusive term “contact.” 
Starting, then, from the individual, to measure him in all his dimen- 
sions and to represent him in all his phases, we find that each person 
is what he is by virtue of the existence of other persons, and by 
virtue of an alternating current of influence betweefi each person and 
all the other persons previously or“at the same time in existence. The 
last native of Central Africa around whom we throw the dragnet of 
civilization, and whom we inoculate with a desire for whiskey, adds 
an increment to the demand for our distillery products, and affects 
the internal revenue of the United States, and so the life-conditions 
of every member of our population. This is what we mean by 
“‘contact.”’ So long as that African tribe is unknown to the outside 
world, and the world to it, so far as the European world is concerned, 
the tribe might as well not exist. The moment the tribe comes 
within touch of the rest of the world, the aggregate of the world’s 
contacts is by so much enlarged; the social world is by so much 


*From Albion W. Small, General Sociology, PP. sas (The University 
of Chicago Press, 1905.) 


SOCIAL CORMEAGrs 289 


extended. In other words, the realm of the social is the realm of 
circuits of reciprocal influence between individuals and the groups 
which individuals compose. The general term “contact” is pro- 
posed to stand for this realm, because it is a colorless word that may 
mark boundaries without prejudging contents. Wherever there is 
physical or spiritual contact between persons, there is inevitably a 
circuit of exchange of influence. The realm of the social is the 
realm constituted by such exchange. It extends from the producing 
of the baby by the mother, and the simultaneous producing of the 
mother by the baby, to the producing of merchant and soldier by 
the world-powers, and the producing of the world-powers by mer- 
chant and soldier. 

The most general and inclusive way in which to designate all 
the phenomena that sociology proper considers, without importing 
into the term premature hypotheses by way of explanation, is to 
assert that they are the phenomena of “contact” between personsy 

In accordance with what was said about the division of labor 
between psychology and sociology, it seems best to leave to the,y 
psychologist all that goes on inside the individual and to say that 
the work of the sociologist begins with the things that take place 
between individuals. ‘This principle of division is not one that can 
be maintained absolutely, any more than we can hold absolutely to 
any other abstract classification of real actions. It serves, however, 
.certain rough uses. Our work as students of society begins in earnest 
when the individual has become equipped with his individuality. 
This stage of human growth is both cause and effect of the life of 
human beings side by side in greater or lesser numbers. Under those 
circumstances individuals are produced; they act as individuals; by 
their action as individuals they produce a certain type of society; 
that type reacts ofrthe individuals and helps to transform them into 
different types of individuals, who in turn produce a modified type 
of society; and so the rhythm goes on forever. Now the medium 
through which all this occurs is the fact of contacts, either physical 
or spiritual. In either case, contacts are collisions of interests in the _ 


individuals. 
2. The Land and the People’ 


Every clan, tribe, state, or nation includes two ideas, a people 
and its land, the first unthinkable without the other. Historv, 


*From Ellen C. Semp nfluences of Geographic Environment, pp. 51-53. 
(Henry Holt & Co., ror1.) 





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Nt 





Wie 3 


290 INTRODUCTION 0 THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


sociology, ethnology, touch only the inhabited areas of the earth. 
These areas gain their final significance because of the people who 
occupy them; their local conditions of climate, soil, natural resources, 
physical features, and geographic situation are important primarily 
as factors in the development of actual or possible inhabitants. A 
land is fully comprehended only when*@#fffffed in the light of its 
influence upon its people, and a people cannot be understood apart 
from the field of its activities. More than this, human activities 
are fully intelligible only in relation to the various geographic condi- 
tions which have stimulated them in different parts of the world. 
The principles of the evolution of navigation, of agriculture, of 
trade, as also the theory of population, can never reach their correct 


» and final statement, unless the data for the conclusions are drawn 
. from every part of the wotld and each fact interpreted in the light of 


the local conditions’ whenceit sprang. Therefore anthropology, 
sociology, and history should be permeated by geography. 

Most systems of sociology treat man as if he were in some way 
detached from the earth’s surface; they ignore the land basis of 
society. The anthropogeographer recognizes the various social 
forces, economic and psychologic, which sociologists regard as the 
cement of societies; but he has something to add. He sees in the 
land occupied by a primitive tribe or a highly organized state 
the underlying materia! bond holding society together, the ultimate 
basis of their fundamental social activities, which are therefore 
derivatives from the land. He sees the common territory exercising | 
an integrating force—weak in primitive communities where the 
group has established only a few slight and temporary relations with 
its soil, so that this low social complex breaks up readily like its 
organic counterpart, the low animal organism found in an amceba; 
he sees it growing stronger with every advance in civilization involving 
more complex relations to the land—with settled habitations, with 
increased density of population, with a discriminating and highly 
differentiated use of the soil, with the exploitation of mineral resources, 
and, finally, with that far-reaching exchange of commodities and ideas ~ 
which means the establishment of varied extra-territorial relations. 
Finally, the modern society or state has grown into every foot of its 
own soil, exploited its every geographic advantage, utilized its geo- 
graphic location to enrich itself by international trade, and, when 


SOCIAL CON PACT — ™ a 






s of colonies. The 
bieaeter: this geographic base, the ae ore varied, its resources, 
and the more favorable its climate to their i ploitation, the more 
numerous and complex are the connections which the members of a 
social group can establish with it, and through it with each other; or, 
in other words, the greater:may be its ultimate historical en iteadice 


3. Touch and Social Contact! 


General ideas concerning human relations are the medium 
through which sexual taboo works, and these must now be examined. 
If we compare the facts of social taboo generally, or of its subdivision, 
sexual taboo, we find that the ultimate test of human relations, in 
both genus and species, is contact. An investigation of primitive 
ideas concerning the relations of man with man, when guided by this 
clue, will lay bare the principles which underlie the theory ‘and 
practice of sexual taboo. Arising, as we have seen, from sexual 
differentiation, and forced into permanence by difference of occupa- 
tion and sexual solidarity, this segregation receives the continuous 
support of religious conceptions as to human relations. ‘These con- 
ceptions center upon contact, and ideas of contact are at the root of 
all conceptions of human relations at any stage of culture; contact 
is the one universal test, as it is the most elementary form, of mutual 
relations. Psychology bears this out, and the point is psychological 
rather than ethnological. 

As I have pointed out before and shall have occasion to do so 
again, a comparative examination, assisted by psychology, of the 
emotions and ideas of average modern humanity is a most valuable 
aid to ethnological inquiry. In this connection, we find that desire 
or willingness for physical contact is an animal emotion, more or less 
subconscious, which is characteristic of similarity, harmony, friend- 
ship, or love. Throughout the world, the greeting of a friend is 
expressed by contact, whether it be nose-rubbing, or the kiss, the 
embrace, or the clasp of hands; so the ordinary expression of friend- 
- ship by a boy, that eternal savage, is contact of arm and shoulder. 
More interesting still for our purpose is the universal expression by 


*From Ernest Crawley, The Mystic Rose, pp. 76-79. (Published by The 
Macmillan Co., 1902. Reprinted by permission.) 


Poe 


202 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


contact of the emotion of love. To touch his mistress is the ever- 
present desire of the lover, and in this impulse, even if we do not 
trace it back, as we may without being fanciful, to polar or sexual 
attraction inherent in the atoms, the gta of Empedocles, yet we 
may place the beginning and ending of love. When analyzed, the 
emotion always comes back to contact. re 

Further, mere willingness for contact is fo ersally when 
the person to be touched is healthy, if not clean, or where he is 
of the same age or class or caste, and, we may add, for ordinary 
humanity the same sex. 

On the other hand, the avoidance of contact, whether consciously 
or subconsciously presented, is no less the universal characteristic of 
human relations where similarity, harmony, friendship, or love is 
absent. ‘This appears in the attitude of men to the sick, to strangers, 
distant acquaintances, enemies, and in cases of difference of age, 
position, sympathies or aims, and even of sex. Poplar Janguage is 
full of phrases which illustrate this feeling. 

Again, the pathology of the emotions supplies many curious 
cases where the whole being seems concentrated upon the sense of 
touch, with abnormal desire or disgust for contact; and in the evolu- 
tion of the emotions from physiological pleasure and pain, contact 
plays an important part in connection with functional satisfaction 
or dissatisfaction with the environment. 

In the next place, there are the facts, first, that an element of 
thought inheres in all sensation, while sensation conditions thought; 
and secondly, that there is a close connection of all the senses, both 
in origin—each of them being a modification of the one primary 
sense of touch—and in subsequent development, where the special- 
ized organs are still co-ordinated through tactile sensation, in the 
sensitive surface of organism. Again, and here we see the genesis 







of. ideas of contact, it is by means of the tactile sensibility of the — 


skin and membranes of sense-organs, forming a sensitized as well as 
a protecting surface, that the nervous system conveys to the brain 
information about the external world, and this information is in its 
original aspect the response to impact. Primitive physics, no less 
than modern, recognizes that contact is a modified form of a blow. 
These considerations show that contact not only plays an important 
part in the life of the soul but must have had a profound influence 
on the development of ideas, and it may now be assumed that ideas 


SOCIAL CONTACTS | 293 | 


of contact have been a universal and original constant factor in 
human relations and that they are so still. The latter assumption 
is to be stressed, because we find that the ideas which lie beneath 
primitive taboo are still a vital part of human nature, though mostly 
emptied of their religious content; and also because, as I hold, 
ceremonies and etiquette, such as still obtain, could not possess 
such vitality as they do unless there were a living psychological 

force behind them, such as we find in elementary ideas which come . 
_ straight from functional processes. 

These ideas of contact are primitive in each sense of the word, at 
whatever stage of culture they appear. They seem to go back in 
origin and in character to that highly developed sensibility of all 
animal and even organized life, which forms at once a biological 
monitor and a safeguard for the whole organism in relation to its 
environment. From this sensibility there arise subjective ideas 
concerning the safety or danger of the environment, and in man we 
may suppose these subjective ideas as to his environment, and 
especially as to his fellow-men, to be the origin of his various expres- 
sions of avoidance or desire for contact. } 

Lastly, it is to be observed that avoidance of contact is the most 
conspicuous phenomenon attaching to cases of taboo when its danger- 
ous character is prominent. In taboo the connotation of ‘“‘not to be 
touched” is the salient point all over the world, even in cases of 
permanent taboo such as belongs to Samoan and Maori chiefs, with 
whom no one dared come in contact; and so we may infer the same 
aversion to be potential in all such relations. 








AL CONTACT IN RELATION TO SOLIDARITY 
AND TO MOBILITY ‘ 


. The In-Group and the Out-Group" 


ion of “primitive society” which we ought to form 
groups scattered over a territory. The size _of the 
ined by the conditions of the struggle for existence. 


The 1 anization of each. group corresponds to its size: A 
group may have some relation to each other (kin, neigh- 
borhe ce, connubium, and commercium) which draws them 


a ete 


Sumner, Folkways, pp. 12-13. (Ginn & Co., 1906.) 


. 204 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


together and differentiates them from others. Thus a differentiation 
arises between ourselves, the we-group, or in- -group, and everybody 
else, or the others-groups, out-groups. The insiders in a we-group 
are in a relation of peace, order, law, government, and industry, to 
each other. Their rélation to all outsiders, or others- -groups, is one 
of war and plunder, except so far as agreements have modified it. 
If a group is exogamic, the women in it were born abroad somewhere. 
. Other foreigners who might be found in it are adopted persons, guest- 
friends, and slaves. 

The relation of comradeship and peace in the we-group and that 
of hostility and war toward others-groups are correlative to each 
other. The exigencies of war with outsiders_are what make peace ~ 
inside, lest internal discord should weaken the we-group for war. 
These exigencies also make government and law in the in-group, in 
order to prevent quarrels and enforce discipline. Thus war and 
peace have reacted on each other and developed each other, one 
within the group, the other in the intergroup relation. The closer 
the neighbors, and the stronger they are, the intenser is the warfare, 
and then the intenser is the internal organization and discipline of 
each. Sentiments are produced to correspond. Loyalty to the 
group, sacrifice for it, hatred and contempt for outsiders, brother- 
hood within, warlikeness without—all grow together, common prod- 
ucts of the same situation. 

Ethnocentrism_ is the technical name for this view of things in . 
which one’s own group is the center of everything and all others are 
scaled and rated with reference to it. Folkways correspond to it to 
cover both the inner and the outer relation. Each group nourishes 
its own pride and vanity, boasts itself superior, exalts its owa divini- 
ties, and looks with contempi on outsiders. Each group thinks its 
own folkways the only right ones, and if it observes that other groups 
have other folkways, these excite its scorn. Opprobrious epithets are 
derived from these differences. “‘Pig-eater,” “cow-eater,”’ “uncir- 
cumcised,” “‘jabberers,” are epithets of contempt and abomination. 


2. Sympathetic Contacts versus Categoric Contacts! 


Let us now consider what takes place when two men, mere 
strangers to one another, come together. The motive of classification, 


t Adapted from N. S. Shaler, The Neighbor, pp. 207-27. fonction Mifflin 
Co., 1904.) 


68: 
| 


{ 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 205 


which I have considered in another chapter, leads each of them at 
once to recognize the approaching object first as living, then as 
human. ‘The shape and dress carry the categorizing process yet 
farther, so that they are placed in groups, as of this or that tribe or 
social class, and as these determinations are made they arouse the 
appropriate sympathies or hatreds such as by experience have become 
associated with the several categories. Be it observed that these 
judgments are spontaneous, instinctive, and unnoticed. They are 
made so by immemorial education in the art of contact which man 
has inherited from the life of the ancestral beasts and men; they 
have most likely been in some measure affirmed by selection, for 
these determinations as to the nature of the neighbor were in the 
lower stages of existence in brute and man of critical importance, 
the creatures lived or died according as they determined well or ill, 
swiftly or slowly. If we observe what takes place in our own minds 
at such meetings we will see that the action in its immediateness is 
like that of the eyelids when the eye is threatened. As we say, it is 
done before we know it. 

With this view as to the conditions of human contact, particularly 
of what occurs when men first meet one another, let us glance at what 
takes place in near intercourse. We have seen that at the beginning 
of any acquaintance the fellow-being is inevitably dealt with in the 
categoric way. He is taken as a member of a group, which group is 
denoted to us by a few convenient signs; as our acquaintance with a 
particular person advances, this category tends to become qualified. 
Its bounds are pushed this way and that until they break down. It 
is to be noted in this process that the category fights for itself, or we 
for it, so that the result of the battle between the immediate truth 
and the prejudice is always doubtful. It is here that knowledge, 
especially that gained by individual experience, is most helpful. The 
uninformed man, who begins to find, on the nearer view of an Israelite, 
that the fellow is like himself, holds by his category in the primitive 
way. Thereature 7s a Jew, therefore the evidence of kinship must 
not count. He who is better informed is, or should be, accustomed 
to amend his categories. He may, indeed, remember that he is 
dealing with a neighbor of the race which gave us not only Christ, 
but all the accepted prophets who have shaped our own course, and 
his understanding helps to cast down the barriers of instinctive 
prejudice. 


- 296 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY | 


At the stage of advancing acquaintance where friendship is 
attained, the category begins to disappear from our minds. We 
may, indeed, measure the advance in this relation by the extent to 
which it has been broken down. Looking attentively at our mental. 
situation as regards those whom we know pretty well, we see that 
most of them are still, though rather faintly, classified into groups. 
While a few of the nearer stand forth by themselves, all of the nearest 
to our hearts are absolutely individualized, so that our judgments of 
them are made on the basis of our own motives and what we of our- 
selves discern. We may use categoric terms concerning our lovers, 
spouses, or children, but they have no real meaning; these persons 
are to us purely individual, all trace of the inclusive category has 
disappeared; they are, in the full sense of the word, our neighbors, 
being so near that when we look upon them we see nothing else, not 
even ourselves. 

Summing up these considerations concerning human contact, it 
may be said that the world works by a system of individualities rising 
in scale as we advance from the inorganic through the organic series 
until we find the summit in man. The condition of all these indi- 
viduals is that of isolation; each is necessarily parted from all the 
others in the realm, each receiving influences, and, in turn, sending 
forth its peculiar tide of influences to those of its own and other kinds. 
This isolation in the case of man is singularly great for the reason 
that he is the only creature we know in the realm who is so far endowed 
with consciousness that he can appreciate his position and know the 
measure of his solitude. In the case of all individuals the discernible 
is only a small part of what exists. In man the measure of this presen- 
tation is, even to himself, very small, and that which he can readily 
make evident to his neighbor is an exceedingly limited part of the real 
whole. Yet it is on this slender basis that we must rest our relations - 
with the fellow man if we are to found them upon knowledge. The 
imperfection of this method of ascertaining the fellow-man is well 
shown by the trifling contents of the category discriminations we 
apply to him. While, as has been suggested, much can be done 
by those who have gained in knowledge of our kind by importing 
understandings into our relations with men, the only effective way 
to the betterment of those relations is through the sympathies. 

What can be done by knowledge in helping us to a comprehension 
of the fellow-man is at best merely explanatory of his place in the 





SOCIAL CONTACTS 297 





tage of the sympathetic way of approach is that in this method the 
neighbor is accounted for on the supposition that he is ourself in 
another form, so we feel for and with him on the instinctive hypothesis 
that he is essentially ourself. There can be no question that this 
method of looking upon other individualities is likely to lead to many 
errors. We see examples of these blunders in all the many grades 
of the personifying process, from the savage’s worship of a tree or 
stone to the civilized man’s conception of a human-like god. We 
see them also in the attribution to the lower animals of thoughts 
and feelings which are necessarily limited to our own kind, but in 
the case of man the conception of identity gives a minimum of error 
and a maximum of truth. It, indeed, gives a truer result than could 
possibly be attained by any scientific inquiries that we could make, 
or could conceive of being effectively made, and this for the following 
reasons. 

When, as in the sympathetic state, we feel that the neighbor of 
our species is essentially ourself, the tacit assumption is that his needs 
and feelings are as like our own as our own states of mind at diverse 
times are like one another, so that we might exchange motives with 
him without experiencing any great sense of strangeness. What we 
have in mind is not the measure of instruction or education, not the 
class or station or other adventitious circumstances, but the essential 
traits of his being. Now this supposition is entirely valid. All we 
know of mankind justifies the statement that, as regards all the 
qualities and motives with which the primal sympathies deal, men 
are remarkably alike. Their loves, hates, fears, and sorrows are 
alike in their essentials; so that the postulate of sympathy that the 
other man is essentially like one’s self is no idle fancy but an estab- 
‘lished truth. It not only embodies the judgment of all men in 
thought and action but has its warrant from all the science we can 
apply to it. d 

It is easy to see how by means of sympathy we can at once pass 
the gulf which separates man from man. All the devices of the ages 
in the way of dumb or spoken language fail to win across the void, 
and leave the two beings apart; but with a step the sympathetic 
spirit.passes the gulf. In this strange feature we have the completion 

7 ies of differences between the inorganic and the organic 
individualities. In the lower or non-living isolations there 


phenomenal world; of itself it has only scientific value. The advan- i 










298 INTRODUCTION TO THE ‘SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


is no reason why the units should do more than mechanically interact. 
All their service in the realm can be best effected by their remaining 
foyever completely apart. But when we come to the organic series, 
the units begin to have need of understanding their neighbors, in 
order that they may form those beginnings of the moral order which 
we find developing among the members even of the lowliest species. 
Out of this sympathetic accord arises the community, which we see 
in its simple beginnings in the earlier stages of life; it grows with the 
advance in the scale of being, and has its supreme success in man. 
Human society, the largest of all organic associations, requires that 
its units be knit together in certain common purposes and under- 
standings, and the union can only be made effective by the ways of 
sympathy—by the instinctive conviction of essential kinship. 


f 


x 3. Historical Continuity and Civilization’ 


In matters connected with political and economical institutions 
we notice among the natural races very great differences in the sum 
of their_civilization. Accordingly we have to look among them, not 
only for the beginnings of civilization, but for a very great part of 
its evolution, and it is equally certain that these differences are to be 
referred less to variations in endowment than to great differences in 
the conditions of their development. Exchange has also played its 
part, and unprejudiced observers have often been more struck in 
the presence of facts by agreement than by difference. “It is aston- 
ishing,” exclaims Chapman, when considering the customs of the 
Damaras, “what a similarity there is in the manners and practices 
of the human family throughout the world. Even here, the two 
different classes of Damaras practice rites in common with the New 
Zealanders, such as that of chipping out the front teeth and cutting 
off the little finger.”’ It is less astonishing if, as the same traveler 
remarks, their agreement with the Bechuanas goes even farther. 
Now since the essence of civilization lies first in the amassing of 
experiences, then in the fixity with which these are retained, and 
lastly in the capacity to carry them farther or to increase them, our 
first question must be, how is it possible to realize the first funda- 


*From Friedrich Ratzel, The History of Mankind, I, 21-25. (Published by 
The Macmillan Co., 1896. Reprinted by permission.) 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 299 


mental condition of civilization, namely, the amassing a stock of 
culture in the form of handiness, knowledge, power, capital? It has 
long been agreed that the first step thereto is the transition from 
complete dependence ‘upon what Nature freely offers to a conscious 
exploitation through man’s own labor, especially in agriculture or 
cattle-breeding, of such of her fruits as are most important to him. 
This transition opens at one stroke all the most remote possibilities 
of Nature, but we must always remember at the same time that it 
is still a long way from the first step to the height which has now 
been attained. 

The intellect of man and also the intellect of whole races shows a 


wide discrepancy in regard to differences ef endowment as well as in 


regard to the different effects which external circumstances produce 
upon it. Especially are there variations in the degree of inward 
coherence and therewith of the fixity or duration of the stock of 
intellect. The want of coherence, the breaking up of this stock, 
characterizes the lower stages of civilization no less than its coherence, 
its inalienability, and its power of growth do the higher. We find 
in low stages a poverty of tradition which allows these races neither 
to maintain a consciousness of their earlier fortunes for any appreciable 
period nor to fortify and increase their stock of intelligence either 
through the acquisitions of individual prominent minds or through 
the adoption and fostering of any stimulus. Here, if we are not 
entirely mistaken, is the basis of the deepest-seated differences 
between races. The opposition of historic and non-historic races 
seems to border closely upon it. 

There is a distinction between the quickly ripening immaturity 
of the child and the limited maturity of the adult who has come to a 
stop in many respects. What we mean by “natural” races is some- 
thing much more like the latter than the former. We call them 


races deficient in civilization, because internal and external condi- 


tions have hindered them from attaining to such permanent develop- 
ments in the domain of culture as form the mark of the true civilized 
races and the guaranties of progress. Yet we should not venture to 


call any of them cultureless, so long as none of them is devoid of the - 


primitive means by which the ascent to higher stages can be made— 
language, religion, fire, weapons, implements; while the very posses- 
sion of these means, and many others, such as domestic animals and 


id 


300 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


cultivated plants, testifies to varied and numerous dealings with 
those races which are completely civilized. 

The reasons why they do not make use of these gifts are of many 
kinds. Lower intellectual endowment is often placed in the first 
rank. That is a convenient but not quite fair explanation. Among 
the savage races of today we find great differences in endowments. 
We need not dispute that in the course of development races of even 
slightly higher endowments have got possession of more and more 
means of culture, and gained steadiness and security for their prog- 
ress, while the less endowed remained behind. But external condi- 
tions, in respect to their furthering or hindering effects, can be more 
clearly recognized and estimated; and it is juster and more logical 
to name them first. We can conceive why the habitations of the 
savage races are principally to be found on the extreme borders of 
the inhabited world, in the cold and hot regions, in remote islands, in 
secluded mountains, in deserts. We understand their backward 
condition in parts of the earth which offer so few facilities for agri- . 
culture and cattle-breeding as Australia, the Arctic regions, or the 
extreme north and south of America. In the insecurity of incom- 


‘pletely developed resources we can see the chain which hangs heavily 


on their feet and confines their movements within a narrow space. 
As a consequence their numbers are small, and from this again results 
the small total amount of intellectual and physical accomplishment, 
the rarity of eminent men, the-absence of the salutary pressure 
exercised by surrounding masses on the activity and forethought of 
the individual, which operates in the division of society into classes, 
and the promotion of a wholesome division of labor. A partial conse- 
quence of this insecurity of resources is the instability of natural races. 
A nomadic strain runs through them all, rendering easier to them the 
utter incompleteness of their unstable political and economical 
institutions, even when an indolent agriculture seems to tie them to 
the soil. Thus it often comes about that, in spite of abundantly 
provided and well-tended means of culture, their life is desultory, 
wasteful of power, unfruitful. ‘This life has no inward consistency, 


— 


‘ no secure growth; it is not the life in which the germs of civilization 


first grew up to the grandeur in which we frequently find them at 
the beginnings of what we call history. It is full rather of fallings- 
away from civilization and dim memories from civilized spheres 


ee 


SOCIAL CONTACTS _ 301 


which in many cases must have existed long before the commence- 
ment of history as we have it. 

By the word “civilization” or “culture”? we denote usually the 
sum of all the acquirements at a given time of the human intelligence. 
When we speak of stages, of higher and lower, of semi-civilization, 
of civilized and “natural” races, we apply to the various civilizations 
of the earth a standard which we take from the degree that we have 
ourselves attained. Civilization means our civilization. 

The confinement, in space as in time, which isolates huts, villages, 
races, no less than successive generations, involves the negation of 
culture; in its opposite, the intercourse of contemporaries and the 
interdependence of ancestors and successors, lies the possibility of 
development. The union of contemporaries secures the retention 
of culture, the linking of generations its unfolding. The develop-} 
ment of civilization is a process of hoarding. ‘The hoards grow of 
themselves so soon as a retaining power watches over them. In all 
domains of human creation and operation we shall see the basis of 
all higher development in intercourse. Only through co-operation 
and mutual help, whether between contemporaries, whether from 
one generation to another, has mankind succeeded in climbing to the 
stage of civilization on which its highest members now stand. On 
the nature and extent of this intercourse the growth depends. ‘Thus 
the numerous small assemblages of equal importance, formed by the 
family stocks, in which the individual had no freedom, were less 
favorable to it than the larger communities and states of the modern 
world, with their encouragement to individual competition. 


4. Mobility and the Movement of Peoples’ 


Every country whose history we examine proves the recipient of 
successive streams of humanity. Even sea-girt England has received 
various intruding peoples, from the Roman occupation to the recent 
influx of Russian Jews. In frehistoric times it combined several 
elements in its population, as the discovery of the “long barrow” 
men and “‘round barrow” men by archaeologists and the identifica- 
tion of a surviving Iberian or Mediterranean strain by ethnologists 
go to prove. Mesopotamia, and India tell the same story, 


1Adapted from Ellen C. Semple, Influences of Geographic Environment, 
Pp. 75-84, 186-87. (Henry Holt & Co., IgII.) 







302 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


whether in their recorded or unrecorded history. Tropical Africa 
lacks a history; but all that has been pieced together by ethnologists 
and anthropologists, in an effort to reconstruct its past, shows inces- 
sant movement—growth, expansion, and short-lived conquest, fol- 
lowed by shrinkage, expulsion, or absorption by another invader. 
To this constant shifting of races and peoples the name of historical 
movement has been given, because it underlies most of written 
history and constitutes the major part of unwritten history, especially 
that of savage and nomadic tribes. 

Among primitive peoples this movement is simple and monoto- 
nous. It involves all members of the tribe, either in pursuit of game 
or following the herd over the tribal territory, or in migrations seeking 
more and better land. Among civilized peoples it assumes various 
forms and especially is differentiated for different members of the 
social group. ‘The civilized state develops specialized frontiers-——men, 
armies, explorers, maritime traders, colonists, and missionaries, who 
keep a part of the people constantly moving and directing external 
expansion, while the mass of the population converts the force once 
expended in the migrant food-quest into internal activity. Here we 
come upon a paradox. The nation as a whole, with the development 
of sedentary life, increases its population and therewith its need for 
external movements; it widens its national area and its circle of 
contact with other lands, enlarges its geographical horizon, and 
improves its internal communication over a growing territory; it 
evolves a greater mobility within and without, which attaches, how- 
ever, to certain classes of society, not to the entire social group. This 
mobility becomes the outward expression of a whole complex of - 
economic wants, intellectual needs, and political ambitions. It is 
embodied in the conquests which build up empires, in the coloniza- 
tion which develops new lands, in the world-wide exchange of 
commodities and ideas which lifts the level of civilization till this 
movement of peoples becomes a fundamental fact of history. 

Otis Mason finds that the life of a social group involves a variety 
of movements characterized by different ranges or scopes: (1) The 
daily round from bed to bed. (2) The annual round from year to 
year, like that of the Tunguse Orochon of Siberia who, in pursuit of 
various fish and game, change their residence within their territory 
from month to month, or the pastoral nomads who move with the 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 303 


seasons from pasture to pasture. (3) Less systematic outside move- 
ments covering the tribal sphere of influence, such as journeys or 


voyages to remote hunting or fishing grounds, forays or piratical 
descents upon neighboring lands, eventuating usually in conquest, 
expansion into border regions for occasional occupation, or coloniza- 
tion. (4) Participation in streams of barter or commerce. (5) And, 
at a higher stage, in the great currents of human intercourse, experi- 
ence, and ideas,*which finally compass the world. In all this series 
the narrower movement prepares for the broader, of which it consti- 
tutes at once an impulse and a part. 

Civilized man is at once more and less mobile than his primitive 
brother. Every advance in civilization multiplies and tightens the | 
bonds uniting him with his soil, makes him a sedentary instead of a 
migratory being. On the other hand, every advance in civilization 
is attended by the rapid clearing of the forests, by the construction 
of bridges and interlacing roads, the invention of more effective 
vehicles for transportation whereby intercourse increases, and the 
improvement of navigation to thesame end. Civilized man progres- 
sively modifies the~land which he occupies, removes or reduces 
obstacle ntercourse, and thereby approximates it to the open 
plain. ‘Thus far he facilitates movements. But while doing this he 
also places upon the land a dense population, closely attached to the 
soil, strong to resist incursion, and for economic reasons inhospitable 
to any marked accession of population from without. Herein lies 
the great difference between migration in empty or sparsely inhabited 
regions, such as predominated when the world was young, and in the 
densely populated countries of our era. As the earth grew old and 
humanity multiplied, peoples themselves became the greatest barriers 
to any massive migrations, till in certain countries of Europe and 
Asia the historical™ has been reduced to a continual pres- 
sure, resulting in compression of population here, repression there. 
Hence, though political boundaries may shift, ethnic boundaries 
scarcely budge. The greatest wars of modern Europe have hardly 
left a trace upon the distribution of its peoples. Only in the 
Balkan Peninsula, as the frontiers of the Turkish Empire have 
been forced back from the Danube, the alien Turks have with- 
drawn to the shrinking territory of the Sultan and especially to 
Asia Minor. 








304 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Where a population too great to be dislodged occupies the land, 
conquest results in the eventual absorption of the victors and their 
civilization by the native folk, as happened tg the Lombards in Italy, 
the Vandals in Africa, and the Normans if England. Where the 
invaders are markedly superior in culture,though numerically weak, 
conquest results in the gradual permeation of the conquered with 
the religion, economic methods, language, and customs of the new- 
comers. The latter process, too, is always attended by some inter- 
mixture of blood, where no race repulsion exists, but this is small in 
comparison to the diffusion of civilization. This was the method by 
which Greek traders and colonists Hellenized the countries about 
the eastern Mediterranean and spread their culture far back from 
the shores which their settlements had appropriated. In this way 
Saracen armies, soon after the death of Mohammed, Arabized the 
whole eastern and southern sides of the Mediterranean from Syria to 
Spain, and Arab merchants set the stamp of their language and 
religion on the coasts of East Africa as far as Mozambique. The 
handful of Spanish adventurers who came upon the relatively dense 
populations of Mexico and Peru left among them a civilization 
essentially European, but only a thin strain of Castilian blood. 
Thus the immigration of small bands of people sufficed to influence 
the culture of that big territory known as Latin America. | 

Throughout the life of any people, from its fetal period in some 
small locality to its well-rounded adult era marked by the occupation 
and organization of a wide national territory, gradations in area mark 
gradations of development. And this is true, whether we consider 
the compass of their commercial exchanges, the scope of their mari- 
time ventures, the extent of their linguistic area, the measure of their 
territorial ambitions, or the range of their intellectual interests 
and human sympathies. From land to ethics, the rule holds good. 
Peoples in the lower stages of civilization have contracted spatial 
ideas, desire and need at a given time only a limited territory, 
though they may change that territory often; they think in small 
linear terms, have a small horizon, a small circle of contact with others, 
a small range of influence, only tribal sympathies; they have an 
exaggerated conception of their own size and importance, because 
their basis of comparison is fatally limited. With a mature, wide- 
spread people like the English or French, all this is different; they 
have made the earth their own, so far as possible. 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 305 


Just because of this universal tendency toward the occupation 
of ever larger areas and the formation of vaster political aggregates, 
in making a sociological or political estimate of different peoples, we 
should never lose sight of the fact that all racial and national charac- 
teristics which operate toward the absorption of more land and 
impel to political expansion are of fundamental value. A ship of 
state manned by such a crew has its sails set to catch the winds of 
the world. 

Territorial expansion is always preceded by an extension of the 
circle of influence which a people exerts through its traders, its deep- 
sea fishermen, its picturesque marauders and more respectable mis- 
sionaries, and earlier still by a widening of its mere geographical 
horizon through fortuitous or systematic exploration. 


C. PRIMARY AND SECONDARY CONTACTS 


1. Village Life in America (from the Diary of a Young Girl)? 


November 21, 1852.—I am ten years old to-day, and I think I 
will write a journal and tell who I am and what Iam doing. I have 
lived with my Grandfather and Grandmother Beals ever since I was 
seven years old, and Anna, too, since she was four. Our brothers, 
James and John, came too, but they are at East Bloomfield at Mr. 
Stephen Clark’s Academy. Miss Laura Clark of Naples is their 
teacher. 

Anna and I go to school at District No. 11. Mr. James C. Cross 
is our teacher, and some of the scholars say he is cross by name and 
cross by nature, but I like him. He gave mea book by the name of 
Noble Deeds of American Women, for reward of merit, in my reading 
class. . 

Friday.—Grandmother says I will have a great deal to answer 
for, because Anna looks up to me so and tries to do everything that 
I do and thinks whatever I say is ‘“‘gospel truth.” The other day 
the girls at school were disputing with her about something and she 
said, ‘It is so, if it ain’t so, for Calline said so.” I shall have to 
“toe the mark,” 4s Grandfather says, if she keeps watch of me all 
the time and walks in my footsteps. 


t Adapted from Caroline C. Richards, Village Life in America, pp. 21-138. 
(Henry Holt & Co., 1912.) 


306 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


April 1, 1853.—Before I go to school every morning I read 
three chapters in the Bible. I read three every day and five on 
Sunday and that takes me through the Bible in a year. Those I 
read this morning were the first, second, and third chapters of Job. 
The first was about Eliphaz reproveth Job; second, benefit of God’s 
correction; third, Job justifieth his complaint. I then learned a 
text to say at school. I went to school at quarter to nine and recited 
my text and we had prayers and then proceeded with the business of 
the day. Just before school was out, we recited in Science of Things 
Familiar, and in Dictionary, and then we had calisthenics. 

July.—Hiram Goodrich, who lives at Mr. Myrot: H. Clark’s, and 
George and Wirt Wheeler ran away on Sunday to seek their fortunes. 
When they did not come back everyone was frightened and started 
out to find them. They set out right after Sunday school, taking 
their pennies which had been given them for the contribution, and 
were gone several days. ‘They were finally found at Palmyra. When 
asked why they had run away, one replied that he thought it was 
about time they saw something of the world. We heard that Mr. 
Clark had a few moments’ private ccnversation with Hiram in the 
barn and Mr. Wheeler the same with his boys and we do not think 
they will go traveling on their own hook again right off. Miss 
Upham lives right across the street from them and she was telling 
little Morris Bates that he must fight the good fight of faith and he. 
asked her if that was the fight that Wirt Wheeler fit. She probably 
had to make her instructions plainer after that. 

1854, Sunday.—Mr. Daggett’s text this morning was the twenty- 
second chapter of Revelation, sixteenth verse, ‘I am the root and 
offspring of David and the bright and morning star.”’ Mrs. Judge 
Taylor taught our Sunday-school class today and she said we ought 
not to read our Sunday-school books on Sunday. I always do. 
Mine today was entitled, Cheap Repository Tracts by Hannah More, 
and it did not seem unreligious at all. 

Tuesday.—Mrs. Judge Taylor sent for me to come over to see 
her today. I didn’t know what she wanted, but when I got there 
she said she wanted to talk and pray with me on the subject of 
religion. She took me into one of the wings. I never had been in 
there before and was frightened at first, but it was nice after I got 
used to it. After she prayed, she asked me to, but I couldn’t think of 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 307 


anything but “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and I was afraid she 
would not like that, so I didn’t say anything. When I got home 
and told Anna, she said, ‘‘ Caroline, I presume probably Mrs. Taylor 
wants you to be a missionary, but I shan’t let you go.” I told her 
she needn’t worry for I would have to stay at home and look after 
her. After school tonight I went out into Abbie Clark’s garden 
with her and she taught me how to play “mumble te peg.” It is 
fun, but rather dangerous. I am afraid Grandmother won’t give me 
a knife to play with. Abbie Clark has beautiful pansies in her 
garden and gave me some roots. 

Sunday.—I e¢most forgot that it was Sunday this morning and 
talked and laughed just as I do week days. Grandmother told me to 
write down this verse before I went to church so I would remember it: 
“Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God, and be more 
ready to hear than to offer the sacrifice of fools.” I wil! remember it 
now, sure. My feet are all right anyway with my new patten leather 
shoes on, but I shall have to look out for my head. Mr. Thomas 
Howell read a sermon today as Mr. Daggett is out of town. Grand- 
mother always comes upstairs to get the candle and tuck us in before 
she goes to bed herself, and some nights we are sound asleep and do 
not hear her, but last night we only pretended to be asleep. She 
kneeled down by the bed and prayed aloud for us, that we might be 
good children and that she might have strength given her from on 
higk to guide us in the straight and narrow path which leads to life 
eternal. Those were her very words. After she had gone down- 
stairs we sat up in bed and talked about it and promised each other 
to be good, and crossed our hearts and ‘“‘hoped to die,” if we broke 
our promise. Then Anna was afraid we would die, but I told her I 
didn’t believe we would be as good as that, so we kissed each other 
and went to sleep. 

Sunday.—Rev. Mr. Tousley preached today to the children and 
told us how many steps it took to be bad. I think he said lying was 
first, then disobedience to parents, breaking the Sabbath, swearing, 
stealing, drunkenness. JI don’t remember just the order they came. 
It was very interesting, for he told lots of stories and we sang a great 
many times. I should think Eddy Tousley would be an awful good 
ith his father in the house with him all the while, but probably 
be away part of the time preaching to other children. 






308 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


December 20, 1855.—Susan B, Anthony is in town and spoke in 
Bemis Hall this afternoon. She made a special request that all the 
seminary girls should come to hear her as well as all the women and 
girls in town. She had a large audience and she talked very plainly 
about our rights and how we ought to stand up for them, and said 
the world would never go right until the women had just as much 
right to vote and rule as the men. She asked us all to come up and 
sign our names who would promise to do all in our power to bring 
about that glad day when equal rights would be the law of the land. 
A whole lot of us went up and signed the paper. When I told Grand- 
mother about it she said she guessed Susan B. Anthony had forgotten 
that St. Paul said the women should keep silence. I told her no, she 
didn’t, for she spoke particularly about St. Paul and said if he had 
lived in these times, instead of eighteen hundred years ago, he would 
have been as anxious to have the women at the head of the govern- 
ment as she was. I could not make Grandmother agree with her at 
all and she said we might better all of us stayed at home. We went 
to prayer meeting this evening and a woman got up and talked. Her 
name was Mrs. Sands. We hurried home and told Grandmother ~ 
and she said she probably meant all right and she hoped we did not 
laugh. 

February 21, 1856.—We had a very nice time at Fannie Gaylord’s 
-party and a splendid supper. Lucilla Field laughed herself almost 
to pieces when she found on going home that she had worn her leggins 
all the evening. We had a pleasant walk home but did not stay till 
it was out. Someone asked me if I danced every set and I told them 
no, I set every dance. JI told Grandmother and she was very much 
pleased. Some one told us that Grandfather and Grandmother first 
met at a ball in the early settlement of Canandaigua. I asked her if 
it was so and she said she never danced since she became a professing 
Christian and that was more than fifty years ago. 

May, 1856.—We were invited to Bessie Seymour’s party last 
night and Grandmother said we could go. The girls all told us at 
school that they were going to wear low neck and short sleeves. We 
have caps on the sleeves of our best dresses and we tried to get the 
sleeves out, so we could go bare arms, but we couldn’t get them out. 
We had a very nice time, though, at the party. Some of the Academy 
boys were there and they asked us to dance but of course we couldn’t 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 309 


do that. We promenaded around the rooms and went out to supper 
with them. Eugene Stone and Tom Eddy asked to go home with 
us but Grandmother sent our two girls for us, Bridget Flynn and 
Hannah White, so they couldn’t. We were quite disappointed, but 
perhaps she won’t send for us next time. 

Thursday, 1857.—We have four sperm candles in four silver 
candlesticks and when we have company we light them. Johnnie 
Thompson, son of the minister, Rev. M. L. R. P., has come to the 
academy to school and he is very full of fun and got acquainted with 
all the girls very quick. He told us this afternoon to have “the 
other candle lit” for he was coming down to see us this evening. Will 
Schley heard him say it and he said he was coming too. Later.—The 
boys came and we had a very pleasant evening but when the g o’clock 
bell rang we heard Grandfather winding up the clock and scraping 
up the ashes on the hearth to cover the fire so it would last till morn- 
ing and we all understood the signal and they bade us good night. 
““We won’t go home till morning”’ is a song that will never be sung 
in this house. . 

September, 1857.—Grandmother let Anna have six little girls 
here to supper to-night: Louisa Field, Hattie Paddock, Helen Coy, 
Martha Densmore, Emma Wheeler, and Alice Jewett. We had a 
splendid supper and then we played cards. I do not mean regular 
cards, mercy no! Grandfather thinks those kinds are contageous or 
outrageous or something dreadful and never keeps them in the house. 
Grandmother said they found a pack once, when the hired man’s 
room was cleaned, and they went into the fire pretty quick. The 
kind we played was just “Dr. Busby,” and another ‘‘ The Old Soldier 
and His Dog.” There are counters with them, and if you don’t 
have the card called for you have to pay one into the pool. It is 
real fun. They all said they had a very nice time, indeed, when 
they bade Grandmother good night, and said: ‘“‘ Mrs. Beals, you must 
let Carrie and Anna come and see us some time,” and she said she 
would. I think it is nice to have company. 

August 30, 1858.—Some one told us that when Bob and Henry 
Antes were small boys they thought they would like to try, just for 
once, to see how it would seem to be bad, so in spite of all of Mr. Tous- 
ley’s sermons they went out behind the barn one day and in a whisper 
Bob said, ‘‘I swear,” and Henry said, “So do I.” Then they came 


310 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


into the house looking guilty and quite surprised, I suppose, that they 
were not struck dead just as Ananias and Sapphira were for lying. 

February, 1859.—Mary Wheeler came over and pierced my ears 
today, so I can wear my new earrings that Uncle Edward sent me. 
She pinched my ear until it was numb and then pulled a needle 
through, threaded with silk. Anna would not stay in the room. 
She wants hers done but does not dare. It is all the fashion for girls 
to cut off their hair and friz it. Anna and I have cut off ours and 
Bessie Seymour got me to cut off her lovely long hair today. It 
won’t be very comfortable for us to sleep with curl papers all over our 
heads, but we must do it now. I wanted my new dress waist which 
Miss Rosewarne is making to hook up in front, but Grandmother 
said I would have to wear it that way all the rest of my life so I had 
better be content to hook it in the back a little longer. She said 
when Aunt Glorianna was married, in 1848, it was the fashion for 
grown-up women to have their waists fastened in the back, so the 
bride had hers made that way but she thought it was a very foolish 
and inconvenient fashion. It is nice, though, to dress in style and 
look like other people. I have a ibaldi waigt and a Zouave 
jacket and a balmoral skirt. 

1860, Sunday.—Frankie Richardson asked me to go with her to 
teach a class in the colored Sunday School on Chapel Street this 
afternoon. I asked Grandmother if I could go and she said she 
never noticed that I was particularly interested in the colored race 
and she said she thought I only wanted an excuse to get out for a 
walk Sunday afternoon. However, she said I could go just this once. 
When we got up as far as the Academy, Mr. Noah T. Clarke’s brother, 
who is one of the teachers, came out and Frank said he led the singing 
at the Sunday school and she said she would give me an intro- 
duction to him, so he walked up with us and home again. Grand- 
mother said that when she saw him opening the gate for me, she 
understood my zeal in missionary work. ‘The dear little lady,” as 
we often call her, has always been noted for her keen discernment 
and wonderful sagacity and loses none of it as she advances in years. 
Some one asked Anna the other day if her Grandmother retained all 
her faculties and Anna said, “ Yes, indeed, to an alarming degree.” 
Grandmother knows that we think she is a perfect angel even if she 
does seem rather strict sometimes. Whether we are seven or seven- 


SOCIAL CONTACTS . 311 


teen we are children to her just the same, and the Bible says, ‘‘ Children 
obey your parents in the Lord for this is right.”” We are glad that 
we never will seem old to her. I had the same company home from 
church in the evening. His home is in Naples. 

Christmas, 1860.—I asked Grandmother if Mr. Clarke AoaTR take 
Sunday night supper with us and she said she was afraid he did not 
know the catechism. I asked him Friday night and he said he 
would learn it on Saturday so that he could answer every third 
question anyway. So he did and got along very well. I think he 
deserves a pretty good supper. 


2. Secondary Contacts and City Life’ 


Modern methods of urban transportation and communication— 
the electric railway, the automobile, and the telephone—have silently 
and rapidly changed in recent years the social and industrial organi- 


zation of the modern city. They have been the means of concen-_ 


trating traffic in the business districts; have changed the whole 
character of retail trade, multiplying the residence suburbs and mak- 
ing the department store possible. ‘These changes in the industrial 
organization and in the distribution of population have been accom- 
panied by corresponding changes in the habits, sentiments, and 
character of the urban population. 

The general nature of these changes is indicated by the fact that 
the growth of cities has been accompanied by the substitution of 
indirect, “secondary,” for direct, face-to-face, “primary” relations in 
the associations of individuals in the community. ie 


By primary groups I mean those characterized by intimate face-to-face 
association and co-operation. They are primary in several senses, but 
chiefly in that they are fundamental in forming the social nature and ideals 
of the individual. The result of intimate association, psychologically, is a 
certain fusion of individualities in a common whole, so that one’s very self, 
for many purposes at least, is the common life and purpose of the group. 
Perhaps the simplest way of describing this wholeness is by saying that it 
is a “‘we”’; it involves the sort of sympathy and mutual identification for 
which ‘‘we” is the natural expression. One lives in the feeling of the 
_ whole and finds the chief aims of his will in that feeling. 


*From Robert E. Park, “‘The City,” in the American Journal of Sociology, 
XX (1914-15), 593-600. 





a 


v 


312 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Touch and sight, physical contact, are the basis for the first and 
most elementary human relationships. Mother and child, husband 
and wife, father and son, master and servant, kinsman and neighbor, 
minister, physician, and teacher—these are the most intimate and 
real relationships of life and in the small community they are practi- 
cally inclusive. 

The interactions which take place among the members of a com- 
munity so constituted are immediate and unreflecting. Intercourse 
is carried on largely within the region of instinct and feeling. Social 
control arises, for the most part spontaneously, in direct response to 
personal influences and public sentiment. It is the result of a per- 
sonal accommodation rather than the formulation of a rational 

/ and abstract principle. | 

In a great city, where the population is unstable, where parents 
and children are employed out of the house and often in distant 
parts of the city, where thousands of people live side by side for years 
without so much as a bowing acquaintance, these intimate relation- 
ships of the primary group are weakened and the moral order which 
rested upon them is gradually dissolved. 

Under the disintegrating influences of city life most of our tra- 
ditional institutions; the church, the school, and the family, have 
been greatly modified. The school, for example, has taken over. 

“some of the functions of the family. It is around the public school 
and its solicitude for the moral and physical welfare of the children 
that something like a new neighborhood and community spirit tends . 
to get itself organized. | 

The church, on the other hand, which has lost much of its influence 
since the printed page has so largely taken the place of the pulpit in 
the interpretation of life, seems at present to be in process of read- 
justment to the new conditions. 

It is probably the breaking down of local attachments and the 
weakening of the restraints and inhibitions of the primary group, 
under the influence of the urban environment, which are largely 
responsible for the increase of vice and crime in great cities. It 
would be interesting in this connection to determine by investigation 
how far the increase in crime keeps pace with the increasing mobility 
of the population. It is from this point of view that we should seek 
to interpret all those statistics which register the disintegration of the 





SOCIAL CONTACTS 313 


moral order, for example, the statistics of divorce, of truancy, and of 
crime. | 

Great cities have always been the melting-pots of races and of 
cultures. Out of the vivid and subtle interactions of which they have 
been the centers, there have come the newer breeds and the newer _ 
social types. ‘The great cities of the United States, for example, have 
drawn from the isolation of their native villages great masses of the 
rural populations of Europe and America. Under the shock of the 
new contacts the latent energies of these primitive peoples have been 
existence not merely vocational but temperamental types. 

Transportation and communication have effected, among many 
other silent but far-reaching changes, what I have called the “‘ mobili- 
zation of the individual man.” They have multiplied the oppor- 
tunities of the individual man for contact and for association with his 
fellows, but they have made these contacts and associations more ~ 
transitory and less stable. A very large part of the populations of 
great cities, including those who make their homes in tenements and 
apartment houses, live much as people'do in some great hotel, meet- 
ing but not knowing one another. ‘The effect of this is to substitute 
fortuitous and casual relationshiv for the more intimate and perma- 
nent associations of the smaller community. 

‘Under these circumstances the individual’s status is determined 
to a considerable degree by conventional signs—by fashion and 
“front”—and the art of life is largely reduced to skating on thin 
surfaces and a scrupulous study of style and manners, 

Not only transportation and communication, but the segregation 
of the urban population, tends to facilitate the mobility of the indi- 
vidual man. ‘The processes of segregation establish moral distances: 
which make the city a mosaic of little worlds which touch but do 
not interpenetrate. This makes it possible for individuals to pass 
quickly and easily from one mora) milieu to another and encourages 
the fascinating but dangerous experiment of living at the same time 
in several different contiguous, perhaps, but widely separated worlds. 
All this tends to give to city life a superficial and adventitious charac- 
ter; it tends to complicate social relationships and to produce new 
and divergent individual types. It introduces, at the same time, an 
ziement of chance and adventure, which adds to the stimulus of city 


314 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


—~ life and gives it for young and fresh nerves a peculiar attractiveness. 
The lure of great cities is perhaps a consequence of stimulations which 
act directly upon the reflexes. As a type of human behavior it may 
be explained, like the attraction of the flame for the moth, as a sort 
of tropism. 

The attraction of the metropolis is due in part, however, to the 
fact that in the long run every individual finds somewhere among 
the varied manifestations of city life the sort of environment in 

~which he expands and feels at ease; finds, in short, the moral climate 
in which his peculiar nature obtains the stimulations that bring his 
innate qualities to full and free expression. It is, I suspect, motives 
of this kind which have their basis, not in interest nor even in senti- 
ment, but in something more fundamental and primitive which draw 
many, if not most, of the young men’and young women from the 
security of their homes in the country into the big, booming confusion 
and excitement of city life. In a small community it is the normal 
man, the man without eccentricity or genius, who seems most likely 
to succeed. ‘The small community often tolerates eccentricity. The 
city, on the contrary, rewards it. Neither the criminal, the defective, 
nor the genius has the same opportunity to develop his innate dis- 
position in a small town that he invariably finds in a great city. 

Fifty years ago every village had one or two eccentric characters 
who were treated ordinarily with a benevolent toleration, but who 
were regarded meanwhile as impracticable and queer. ‘These excep- 
tional individuals lived an isolated existence, cut off by their very 
eccentricities, whether of genius or of defect, from genuinely intimate 
intercourse with their fellows. If they had the making of criminals, 
the restraints and inhibitions of the small community rendered them 
harmless. If they had the stuff of genius in them, they remained 
sterile for lack of appreciation or opportunity. Mark Twain’s story 
of Pudd’n Head Wilson is a description of one such obscure and 
unappreciated genius. It is not so true as it was that— 


Full many a flower is born to blush unseen 
And waste its fragrance on the desert air. 


Gray wrote the “Elegy in a Country Churchyard”’ before the existence 
of the modern city. 










SOCIAL CONTACTS 315 


In the city many of these divergent types now find a milieu in 
which for good or for ill their dispositions and talents parturiate and 
bear fruit. 


3. Publicity as a Form of Secondary Contact' 


In contrast with the political machine, which has founded its 
organized action on the local, personal, and immediate interests 
represented by the different neighborhoods and localities, the good- 
government organizations, the bureaus of municipal research, and 
the like have sought to represent the interests of the city as a whole 
and have appealed to a sentiment and opinion neither local nor 
personal. ‘These agencies have sought to secure efficiency and good 
government by the education of the voter, that is to say, by investi- 
gating and publishing the facts regarding the government. 

In this way publicity has come to be a recognized form of social 
control, and advertising—‘‘social advertising’”—has become a pro- 
fession with an elaborate technique supported by a body of special 
knowledge. 

It is one of the characteristic phenomena of city life and of society 
founded on secondary relationships that advertising should have come 
to occupy so important a place in its economy. 

In recent years every individual and organization which has had 
to deal with the public, that is to say, the public outside the smaller 
and more intimate communities of the village and small town, has 
come to have its press agent, who is often less an advertising man 
than a diplomatic man accredited to the newspapers, and through 
them to the world at large. Institutions like the Russell Sage Foun- 
- dation, and to a less extent the General Education Board, have 
sought to influence public opinion directly through the medium of 
publicity. ‘The Carnegie Report upon Medical Education, the Pitts- 
burgh Survey, the Russell Sage Foundation Report on Comparative 
Costs of Public-School Education in the Several States, are something 
more than scientific reports. ‘They are rather a high form of journal- 
ism, dealing with existing conditions critically, and seeking through 
the agency of publicity to bring about radical reforms. The work of 

Bureau of Municipal Research in New York has had a similar 


*From Robert E. Park, “The City,” in the American Journal of Seciology, 
1914-15), 604-7. 


XN 


a 


316 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


practical purpose. To these must be added the work accomplished 
by the child-welfare exhibits, by the social surveys undertaken in 


-— different parts of the country, and by similar propaganda in favor of 


public health. 

As a source of social control public opinion becomes important in 
societies founded on secondary relationships of which great cities are 
a type. In the city every social group tends to create its own milieu, 
and, as these conditions become fixed, the mores tend to accommodate 
themselves to the conditions thus created. In secondary groups and 

in the city, fashion tends to take the place of custom, and public 
opinion rather than the mores becomes the dominant force in social 
control. 

In any attempt to understand the nature of public opinion and its 
relation to social control, it is important to investigate, first of all, 


_ the agencies and devices which have come into practical use in the 


effort to control, enlighten, and exploit it. 

The first and the most important of these is the press, that is, 
the daily newspaper and other forms of current literature, including 
books classed as current. 

__ After the newspaper, the bureaus of research which are now 


~~ springing up in all the large cities are the most interesting and the 


most promising devices for using publicity as a means of control. 

The fruits of these investigations do not reach the public directly, 
but are disseminated through the medium of the press, the pulpit 
and other sources of popular enlightenment. 

In addition to these, there are the educational campaigns in. the 
interest of better health conditions, the child-welfare exhibits, and 
the numerous ‘‘social advertising”? devices which are now employed, . 
sometimes upon the initiative of private societies, sometimes upon 
that of popular magazines or newspapers, in order to educate the 
public and enlist the masses of the people in the movement,for the 
improvement of conditions of community life. oy 

The newspaper is the great medium of communication within 
the city, and it is on the basis of the information which it supplies 
‘that public opinion rests. The first function which a newspaper 
supplies is that which was formerly performed by the village gossip. 

In spite, however, of the industry with which newspapers pursue 
facts of personal intelligence and human interest, they cannot com- 


SOCIAL CONTACTS : eS 


pete with the village gossips as a means of social control. For one 
thing, the newspaper maifntains some reservations not recognized by 
gossip, in the matters of personal intelligence. For example, until 
they run for office or commit some other overt act that brings them 
before the public conspicuously, the private life of individual men or 
women is a subject that is for the newspaper taboo. It is not so 
with gossip, partly because in a small community no individual is so 
obscure that his private affairs escape observation and discussion; 
partly because the field is smaller. - In small communities there is a 
perfectly amazing amount of personal information afloat among the 
individuals who compose them. 

The absence of this in the city is what, in large part, makes the 
city what it is. 


4. From Sentimental to Rational Attitudes’ 


I can imagine it to be of exceeding great interest to write the his- 
tory of mankind from the point of view of the stranger and his influ- 
ence on the trend of events. From the earliest dawn of history we 
may observe how communities developed in special directipns, no 
less in important than in insignificant things, because of influences 
from without. Be it religion or technical inventions, good form in 
conduct or fashions in dress, political revolutions or stock-exchange 
machinery, the impetus ‘always—or, at least, in many cases—came 
from strangers. It is not surprising, therefore, that in the history of 
the intellectual and religious growth of the bourgeois the stranger 
should play no small part. Throughout the whole of the Middle 
Ages in Europe, and to a large extent in the centuries that followed, 
families left their homes to set up their hearths anew in other lands. 
The wanderers were in the majority of cases economic agents with a 
strongly marked tendency toward capitalism, and they originated 
capitalist methods and cultivated them. Accordingly, it will be 
helpful to trace the interaction of migrations and the history of the 
capitalist spirit. 

First, as to the facts themselves. Two sorts of migrations may 
be distinguished—those of single individuals and those of groups. In 
the first category must be placed the removal, of their own free will, 


t Adapted from Werner Sombart, The Quintessence of Capitalism, pp. 292-307. 
(T. F. Unwin, Ltd., 1g15.) 


318 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY ~ 


of a family, or it may even be of a few families, from one district or 
country to another. Sich cases were universal. But we are chiefly 
concerned with those instances in which the capitalist spirit mani- 
fested itself, as we must assume it did where the immigrants were 
acquainted with a more complex economic system or were the found- 
ers of new industries. ‘Take as an instance the Lombards and other 
Italian merchants, who in the early Middle Ages carried on business 
in England, France, and elsewhere. Or recall how in the Middle 
Ages many an industry, more especially silk weaving, that was 
established in any district was introduced by foreigners, and very 
often on a capitalist basis. ‘A new phase in the development of 
the Venetian silk industry began with the arrival of traders and silk- 
workers from Lucca, whereby the industry reached its zenith. The 
commercial element came more and more to the fore; the merchants 
became the organizers of production, providing the master craftsman 
with raw materials which he worked up.” So we read in Broglio 
d’Ajano. Weare told a similar tale about the silk industry in Genoa, | 
which received an enormous impetus when the Berolerii began to 
employ, craftsmen from Lucca. In 1341 what was probably the first 
factory for silk manufacture was erected by one Bolognino di Bar- 
ghesano, of Lucca. Even in Lyons tradition asserts that Italians 
introduced the making of silk, and, when in the sixteenth century the 
_ industry was placed on a capitalist basis, the initiative thereto came 
once more from aliens. It was the same in Switzerland, where the 
silk industry was introduced by the Pelligari in 1685. In Austria 
likewise we hear the same tale. 

Silk-making in these instances is but one example; there were 
very many others. Here one industry was introduced, there another; 
here it was by Frenchmen or Germans, there by Italians or Dutch- 
men. And always the new establishments came at the moment when 
the industries in question were about to become capitalistic in their 
organization. 

} Individual migrations, then, were not without influence on the 
economic development of society. But much more powerful was the 
effect of the wanderings of large groups from’one land to another. 
From the sixteenth century, onward migrations of this sort may be 
distinguished under three heads: (r) Jewish migrations; (2) the 
migration of persecuted Christians, more especially of Protestants; 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 3280 


and (3) the colonizing movement, particularly the settlement. in 
America. 

We come, then, to the general question, Is it net a fact that the 
“stranger,” the immigrant, was possessed of a specially developed 
capitalist spirit, and this quite apart from his environment, and, to a 
lesser degree, his religion or his nationality? We see it in the old 
states of Europe no less than in the new settlements beyond; in Jews 
and Gentiles alike; in Protestants and Catholics (the French in 
Louisiana were, by the middle of the nineteenth century, not. a whit 
behind the Anglo-Saxons of the New England states in this respect). 
The assumption therefore forces itself upon us that this particular 
social condition—migration or change of habitat-—-was responsible 
for the unfolding of the capitalist spirit. Let us attempt to show how. 

If we are content to find it in a single cause, it would be the breach 
with all old ways of life and all old social relationships. Indeed, the 
psychology of the stranger in a new land may easily be explained by 
reference to this one supreme fact. His clan, his country, his people, 
his state, no matter how deeply he was rooted in them, have now 
ceased to be realities for him. His first aim is to make profit. How 
could it be otherwise? ‘There is nothing else open to him. In the 
old country he was excluded from playing his part in public life; in 
the colony of his choice there is no public life to speak of. Neither 
can he devote himself 4 a life of comfortable, slothful ease; the new 
lands have little comfp't. Nor is the newcomer moved by sentiment. 
His environment me#.is nothing to him. At best he regards it as a 
means to an end—t,; make a living. All this must surely be of great 
consequence for th. rise of a mental outlook that cares only for gain; 
and who will de-ty that colonial activity generates it? ‘Our rivulets 
and streams turn mill wheels and bring rafts into the valleys, as they 
do in Scotland. But not one ballad, not a single song, reminds us 
that on their banks men and women live who experience the happi- 
ness of love and the pangs of separation; that under each roof in the 
valleys life’s joys and sorrows come and go.” This plaint of an 
American of the old days expresses my meaning; it has been noted 
again and again, particularly by those who visited America at the 
beginning of the nineteenth century. The only relationship between 
the Yankee and his environment is one of practical usefulness. The 
soil, as one of them says, is not regarded as “‘the mother of men, the 


~~ 


320 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


hearth of the gods, the abiding resting-place of the past generations, 
but only as a means to get rich.” There is nothing of ‘‘the poetry of 
the place” anywhere to check commercial devastations. ‘The spire of 
his village is for the American like any other spire; in his eyes the 
newest and most gaudily painted is the most beautiful. A waterfall 
for him merely represents so much motive power. ‘‘ What a mighty 
volume of water!’’ is, as we are assured, the usual cry of an American 
on seeing Niagara for the first time, and his highest praise of it is 
that it surpasses all other waterfalls in the world in its horsepower. 

Nor has the immigrant or colonial settler a sense of the present 
or the past. He has only a future. Before long the possession of 
money becomes his one aim and ambition, for it is clear to him that 
by its méans alone will he be able to shape that future. But how can 
he amass money? Surely by enterprise. His being where he is proves 
that he has capacities, that he can take risks; is it remarkable, then, 
that sooner or later his unbridled acquisitiveness will turn him 
into a restless capitalist undertaker? Here again we have cause 
and effect. He undervalues the present; he overvalues the future. — 
Hence his activities are such as they are. Is it too much to say that 
even today American civilization has something of the unfinished 
about it, something that seems as yet to be in the making, something 
that turns from the present to the future? 

Another characteristic of the newcomer ¢ verywhere is that there 
are no bounds to his enterprise. He is not he. ' in check by personal 
considerations; in all his dealings he comes ii » contact only with 
strangers like himself. As we have already had o}asion to point out, 
the first profitable trade was carried on with strangt $; your own kith 
and kin received assistance from you. You lent out money at inter- 
est only to the stranger, as Antonio remarked to Shylock, sh from 
the stranger you could demand more than you lent. 

Nor is the stranger held in check by considerations other than 
personal ones. He has no traditions to respect; he is not bound by 
the policy of an old business. He begins with a clean slate; he has 
no local connections that bind him to any one spot. Is not every 
locality in a new country as good as every other? You therefore 
decide upon the one that promises most profit. As Poscher says, a 
man who has risked his all and left his home to cross the ocean in 
search of his fortune will not be likely to shrink from a small specula- 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 321 


tion if this means a change of abode. A little traveling more or less 
can make no difference. 

So it comes about that the feverish searching after novelties 
manifested itself in the American character quite early. “If to live 
means constant movement and the coming and going of thoughts and 
feelings in quick succession, then the people here live a hundred lives. 
All is circulation, movement, and vibrating life. If one attempt fails, 
another follows on its heels, and before every one undertaking has 
been completed, the next has already been entered upon” (Chevalier). 
The enterprising impulse leads to speculation; and here again early 
observers have noticed the national trait. ‘Everybody speculates 
and no commodity escapes from the speculating rage. It is not tulip 
speculation this time, but speculations in cottons, real estate, banks, 
and railways.” 

One characteristic of the stranger’s activity, be he a settler in a 
new or an old land, follows of necessity. I refer to the determination 
to apply the utmost rational effort in the field of economic and 
technical activity. The stranger must carry through plans with 
success because of necessity or because he cannot withstand the 
desire to secure his future. On the other hand, he is able to do it 
more easily than other folk because he is not hampered by tradition. 
This explains clearly enough why alien immigrants, as we have seen, 
furthered commercial and industrial progress wherever they came. 
Similarly we may thus account for the well-known fact that nowhere 
are technical inventions so plentiful as in America, that railway con- 
struction and the making of machinery proceed much more rapidly 
there than anywhere else in the world. It all comes from the peculiar 
conditions of the problem, conditions that have been termed colonial— 
great distances, dear labor, and the will to progress. ‘The state of 
mind that will have, nay, must have, progress is that of the stranger, 
untrammeled by the past and gazing toward the future. 

Yet results such as these are not achieved by strangers merely 
because they happen to be strangers. Place a negro in a new environ- 
ment; will he build railways and invent labor-saving machines? 
Hardly. There must be a certain fitness; it must be in the blood. 
In short, other forces beside that of being merely a stranger in a 
strange land are bound to co-operate before the total result can be 
fully accounted for. There must bea process of selection, making the 


322 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


best types available, and the ethical and moral factor, too, counts for 
much. Nevertheless, the migrations themselves were a very power- 
- ful element in the growth of capitalism. 


J 


If wandering, considered as the liberation from every given point 
in space, is the conceptual opposite to fixation at such a point, then 
surely the sociological form of “‘the stranger”? presents the union of 
both of these specifications. It discloses, indeed, the fact that 
relations to space are only, on the one hand, the condition, and, on 
the other hand, the symbol, of relations to men. ‘The stranger is 
not taken here, therefore, in the sense frequently employed, of the 
wanderer who comes today and goes tomorrow, but rather of the 
man who comes today and stays tomorrow, the potential wanderer, 
so to speak, who, although he has gone no further, has not quite got 
over the freedom of coming and going. He is fixed within a certain 
spatial circle, but his position within it is peculiarly determined by 
the fact that he does not belong in it from the first, that he brings 
qualities into it that are not, and cannot be, native to it. 

The union of nearness and remoteness, which every relation 
between men comprehends, has here produced a system of relations 
or a constellation which may, in the fewest words, be thus formulated: 
The distance within the relation signifies that the Near is far; the 
very fact of being alien, however, that the Faris near. For the state 
of being a stranger is naturally a quite positive relation, a particular 
form of interaction. The inhabitants of Sirius are not exactly 
strangers to us, at least not in the sociological sense of the word as 
we are considering it. In that sense they do not exist for us at all. 
They are beyond being far and near. ‘The stranger is an element of 
the group itself, not otherwise than the Poor and the various “inner 
enemies,’” an element whose inherent position and membership 
involve both an exterior and an opposite. The manner, now, in which 
mutually repulsive and opposing elements here compose a form of a 
joint and interacting unity may now be brieflyAnalyzed. 

In the whole history of economics the stranger makes his appear- 
ance everywhere as the trader, the trader his as the stranger. As 


5. The Sociological Significance of the ‘‘Stranger’” 


Translated from Georg Simmel, Soziologie, pp. 68 (or. (Leipzig: Duncker 


und Humblot, 1908.) 
;~ 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 323 


long as production for one’s own needs is the general rule, or products 
are exchanged within a relatively narrow circle, there is no need of any 
middleman within the group. A trader is only required with those 
products which are produced entirely outside of the group. Unless 
there are people who wander out into foreign lands to buy these 
necessities, in which case they are themselves ‘‘strange’”’? merchants 
in this other region, the trader must be a stranger. No other has a 
chance for existence. 

This position of the stranger is intensified in our consciousness if, 
instead of leaving the place of his activity, he fixes himself in’ it. 
This will be possible for him only if he can live by trade in the réle 
of a middleman. Any closed economic group in which the division 
of the land and of the crafts which satisfy the local demands has been 
achieved will still grant an existence to the trader. For trade alone 
makes possible unlimited combinations, in which intelligence finds 
ever wider extensions and ever newer accessions, a thing rarely 
possible in the case of the primitive producer with his lesser mobility 
and his restriction to a circle of customers which could only very 
gradually be increased. Trade can always absorb more men than 
primary production, and it is therefore the most favorable province 
for the stranger, who thrusts himself, so to speak, as a supernumerary 
into a group in which all the economic positiens are already possessed. 
History offers as the classic illustration the European Jew. The 
stranger is by his very nature no landowner—in saying which, land 
is taken not merely in a physical sense but also in a metaphorical 
one of a permanent and a substantial existence, which is fixed, if not 
in space, then at least in an ideal position within the social order. 
The special sociological characteristics of the stranger may now be 
presented. 

a) Mobility.—In the more intimate relations of man to man, the 
stranger may disclose all possible attractions and significant charac- 
ters, but just as long as he is regarded as a stranger, he is in so far 
no landowner. Now restriction to trade,.and frequently to pure 
finance, as if by a sublimation from the former, gives the stranger 
the specific character of mobility. With this mobility, when it 
occurs within a limited group, there occurs that synthesis of nearness 
and remoteness which constitutes the formal position of the stranger; 
for the merely mobile comes incidentally into contact with every 


324 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


single element but is not bound up organically, through the estab- 
lished ties of kinship, locality, or profession, with any single one. 

b) Objectivity—Another expression for this relation lies in the 
objectivity of the stranger. Because he is not rooted in the peculiar 
attitudes and biased tendencies of the group, he stands apart from 
all these with the peculiar attitude of the ‘‘objective,’ which does 
not indicate simply a separation and disinterestedness but is a 
peculiar composition of nearness and remoteness, concern and indif- 
ference. I call attention to the domineering positions of the stranger 
to the group, as whose archtype appeared that practice of Italian 
cities of calling their judges from without, because no native was 
free from the prejudices of family interests and factions. 

c) Confidant.—With the objectivity of the stranger is connected 
the phenomenon which indeed belongs chiefly, but not indeed exclu- 
sively, to the mobile man: namely, that often the most surprising 
disclosures and confessions, even to the character of the confessional 
disclosure, are brought to him, secrets such as one carefully conceals 
from every intimate. Objectivity is by no means lack of sympathy, 
for that is something quite outside and beyond either subjective or 
objective relations. It is rather a positive and particular manner of 
sympathy. So the objectivity of a theoretical observation certainly 
does not mean that the spirit is a tabula rasa on which things inscribe 
their qualities, but it means the full activity of a spirit working 
according to its own laws, under conditions in which accidental dis- 
locations and accentuations have been excluded, the individual and 
subjective peculiarities of which would give quite different pictures 
of the same object. 

d) Freedom from convention.—One can define objectivity also as 
freedom. The objective man is bound by no sort of proprieties which 
can prejudice for him his apprehension, his understanding, his judg- 
ment of the given. This freedom which permits the stranger to 
experience and deal with the relation of nearness as though from a 
bird’s-eye view, contains indeed all sorts of dangerous possibilities. 
From the beginnings of things, in revolutions of all sorts, the attacked 
party has claimed that there has been incitement from without, 
through foreign emissaries and agitators. As far as that is con- 
cerned, it is simply an exaggeration of the specific réle of the stranger; 
he is the freer man, practically and theoretically; he examines. the 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 325 


relations with less prejudice; he submits them to more general, more 
objective, standards, and is not confined in his action by custom, 
piety, or precedents. 

e) Abstract relations.—Finally, the proportion of nearness and 
remoteness which gives the stranger the character of objectivity gets 
another practical expression in the more abstract nature of the rela- 
tion to him. This is seen in the fact that one has certain more 
general qualities only in common with the stranger, whereas the 
relation with those organically allied is based on the similarity of just 
those specific differences by which the members of an intimate 
group are distinguished from those who do not share that intimacy. 
All personal relations whatsoever are determined according to this 
scheme, however varied the form which they assume. What is 
decisive is not the fact that certain common characteristics exist 
side by side with individual differences which may or may not affect 
them but rather that the influence of this common possession itself 
upon the personal relation of the individuals involved is determined 
by certain conditions: Does it exist in and for these individuals and 
for these only? Does it represent qualities that are general in the 
group, to be sure, but peculiar to it? Or is it merely felt by the 
members of the group as something peculiar to individuals themselves 
whereas, in fact, it is a common possession of a group, or a type, or 
mankind? In the last case an attenuation of the effect of the com- 
mon possession enters in, proportional to the size of the group. 
Common characteristics function, it is true, as a basis for union 
among the elements, but it does not specifically refer these elements 
to each other. A similarity so widely shared might serve as a com- 
mon basis of each with every possible other. ‘This too is evidently 
one way in which a relation may at the same moment comprehend 
both nearness-and remoteness. ‘To the extent to which the similari- 
ties become general, the warmth of the connection which they effect 
will have an element of coolness, a feeling in it of the adventitious- 
ness of this very connection. The powers which united have lost 
their specific, centripetal character. 

This constellation (in which similarities are shared by large num- 
bers) acquires, it seems to me, an extraordinary and fundamental pre- 
ponderance—as against the individual and personal elements we 
have been discussing—in defining our relation to the stranger. The 





326 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


stranger is near to us in so far as we feel between him and ourselves 
similarities of nationality or social position, of profession or of general 
human nature. He is far from us in so far as these similarities reach 
out over him and us, and only ally us both because in fact they ally a 
great many. 

In this sense a trait of this strangeness easily comes into even the 
most intimate relations. Erotic relations show a very decided aver- 
sion, in the stage of first passion, to any disposition to think of them 
in general terms. A love such as this (so the lover feels) has never 
existed before, nor is there anything to be compared with our passion 
for the beloved person. An estrangement is wont, whether as cause 
or as result it is difficult to decide, to set in at that moment in which 
the sentiment of uniqueness disappears from the connection. A 
scepticism of its value in itself and for us fastens itself to the very 
thought that after all one has only drawn the lot of general humanity, 
one has experienced a thousand times re-enacted adventure, and 
that, if one had not accidentally encountered this precise person, 
any other one would have acquired the same meaning for us. And 
something of this cannot fail to be present in any relation, be it ever 
so intimate, because that which is common to the two is perhaps 
never common only to them but belongs to a general conception, 
which includes much else, many possibilities of similarities. As little 
actuality as they may have, often as we may forget them, yet here 
and there they crowd in like shadows between men, like a mist gliding 
before every word’s meaning, which must actually congeal into solid 
corporeality in order to be called rivalry. Perhaps this is in many 
cases a more general, at least more insurmountable, strangeness than 
that afforded by differences and incomprehensibilities. There is a 
feeling, indeed, that these are actually not the peculiar property of 
just that relation but of a more general one that potentially refers 
to us and to an uncertain number of others, and therefore the relation 
experienced has no inner and final necessity. 

On the other hand, there is a sort of strangeness, in which this 
very connection on the basis of a general quality embracing the 
parties is precluded. The relation of the Greeks to the Barbarians 
is a typical example; so are all the cases in which the general charac- 
teristics which one takes as peculiarly and merely human are dis- 
allowed to the other. But here the expression ‘‘the stranger” has 


* 


SOCIAL CONTACTS (6 


no longer any positive meaning. ‘The relation with him is a non- 
relation. He is not a member of the group itself. As such he is 
much more to be considered as near and far at the same moment, 
seeing that the foundation of the relation is now laid simply on a 
general human similarity. Between these two elements there occurs, 
however, a peculiar tension, since the consciousness of having only 
the absolutely general in common has exactly the effect of bringing 
into particular emphasis that which is not common. In the case of 
strangers according to country, city, or race, the individual charac- 
teristics of the person are not perceived; but attention is directed to his 
alien extraction which he has in common with all the members of 
his group. ‘Therefore the strangers are perceived, not indeed as 
individuals, but chiefly as strangers of a certain type. Their remote- 
ness is no less general than their nearness. 

With all his inorganic adjacency, the stranger is yet an organic 
member of the group, whose uniform life is limited by the peculiar 
dependence upon this element. Only we do not know how to desig- 
nate the characteristic unity of this position otherwise than by saying 
that it is put together of certain amounts of nearness and of remote- 
ness, which, characterizing in some measure any sort of relation, 
determine in a certain proportion and with characteristic mutual 
tension the specific, formal relation of ‘‘the stranger.” 


———_ ‘YI. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


1. Physical Contacts 


The literature of the research upon social contacts falls naturally 
under four heads: physical contacts, sensory contacts, primary con- 
tacts, and secondary contacts. 

The reaction of the person to contacts with things as contrasted 
with his contacts with persons is an interesting chapter in social 
psychology. Observation upon children shows that the individual 
tends to respond to inanimate objects, particularly if they are unfa- 
miliar, as if they were living and social. The study of animism 
among primitive peoples indicates that their attitude toward certain 
animals whom they regarded as superior social beings is a specialization 
of this response. A survey of the poetry of all times and races dis- 
closes that nature to the poet as well as to the mystic is personal. 


328 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Homesickness and nostalgia are an indication of the personal and 
intimate nature of the relation of man to the physical world. 

It seems to be part of man’s original nature to take the world 
socially and personally. It is only as things become familiar and 
controllable that he gains the concept of mechanism. It is natural 
science and machinery that has made so large a part of the world 
impersonal for most of us. 

The scientific study of the actual reaction of persons and groups 
to their physical environment is still in the pioneer stage. The 
anthropogeographers have made many brilliant suggestions and a 
few careful and critical studies of the direct and indirect effects of the 
physical environment not merely upon man’s social and political organi- 
zation but upon his temperament and conduct. Huntington’s sug- 
gestive observations upon the effect of climate upon manners and 
efficiency have opened a wide field for investigation.* 

Interest is growing in the psychology and sociology of the responses 
of individuals and groups to the physical conditions of their environ- 
ment. Communities, large and small in this country, as they become 


“civic conscious, have devised city plans. New York has made an 


elaborate report on the zoning of the city into business, industrial, 
and residential areas. A host of housing surveys present realistic 
pictures of actual conditions of physical existence from the stand- 
point of the hygienic and social effects of low standards of dwelling, 
overcrowding, the problem of the roomer. Even historic accounts 
and impressionistic observations of art and ornament, decoration 
and dress, indicate the relation of these material trappings to the 
self-consciousness of the individual in his social milieu. 

The reservation must be made that studies of zoning, city plan- 
ning, and housing have taken account of economic, aesthetic, and 
hygienic factors rather than those of contacts. Implicit, however, 
in certain aspects of these studies, certainly present often as an 
unconscious motive, has been an appreciation of the effects of the 
urban, artificial physical environment upon the responses and the 
very nature of plastic human beings, creatures more than creators 
of the modern leviathan, the Great City. 

Glimpses into the nature and process of these subtle effects appear 
only infrequently in formal research. Occasionally such a book as The 

tEllsworth Huntington, Climate and Civilization. (New Haven, 1915.) 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 320 


Spirit of Youth and the City Streets by Jane Addams throws a flood of 
light upon the contrasts between the warmth, the sincerity, and the 
wholesomeness of primary human responses and the sophistication, 
the coldness, and the moral dangers of the secondary organization of 
urban life. 

A sociological study of the effect of the artificial physical and 
social environment of the city upon the person will take conscious 
account of these social factors. The lack of attachment to home in 
the city tenant as compared with the sentiments and status of home- 
ownership in the village, the mobility of the urban dweller in his 
necessary routine of work and his restless quest for pleasure, the 
sophistication, the front, the self-seeking of the individual emanci- 
pated from the controls of the primary group—all these present 
problems for research. 

There are occasional references in literature to what may be 
called the inversion of the natural attitudes of the city child. His 
attention, his responses, even his images become fixed by the stimuli 
of the city streets.* To those interested in child welfare and human 
values this is the supreme tragedy of the city. 


2. Touch and the Primary Contacts of Intimacy 


The study of the senses in their relations to personal and social 
behavior had its origins in psychology, in psychoanalysis, in ethnology, 
and in the study of races and nationalities with reference to the con- 
flict and fusion of cultures. Darwin’s theory of the origin of the 
species increased interest in the instincts and it was the study of the 
instincts that led psychologists finally to define all forms of behavior 
in terms of stimulus and response. A “contact” is simply a stimu- 
lation that has significance for the understanding of group behavior. 

In psychoanalysis, a rapidly growing literature is accessible to 
sociologists upon the nature and the effects of the intimate contacts 
of sex and family life. Indeed, the Freudian concept of the libido 
may be translated for sociological purposes into the desire for response. 


t The following is one of the typical illustrations of this point. An art teacher 
conducted a group of children from a settlement, in a squalid city area, to the 
country. Sheasked the children to draw any object they wished. On examination 
of the drawings she was astonished to find not rural scenes but pictures of the city 
streets, as lamp-posts and smokestacks. 


330 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The intensity of the sentiments of love and hate that cement and 
disrupt the family is indicated in the analyses of the so-called ‘‘family 
romance.’ Life histories reveal the natural tendencies toward recip- 
rocal affection of mother and son or father and daughter, and the 
mutual antagonism of father and son or mother and daughter. 

In ethnology, attention was early directed to the phenomena of. 
taboo with its injunction against contamination by contacts. The 
literature of primitive communities is replete with the facts of avoid- 
ance of contact, as between the sexes, between mother-in-law and 
son-in-law, with persons ‘“‘with the evil eye,” etc. Frazer’s volume 
on ‘Taboo and the Perils of the Soul” in his series entitled The 
Golden Bough, and Crawley, in his book, The Mystic Rose, to mention 
two outstanding examples, have assembled, classified, and interpreted 
many types of taboo. In the literature of taboo is found also the 
ritualistic distinction between “the clean” and ‘‘the unclean” and 
the development of reverence and awe toward ‘‘the sacred” and 
“the holy.” 

Recent studies of the conflict of races and nationalities, generally 
considered as exclusively economic or political in nature, bring out 
the significance of disgusts and fears based fundamentally upon 
characteristic racial odors, marked variations in skin color and in 
physiognomy as well as upon differences in food habits, personal 
conduct, folkways, mores, and culture. 


3. Primary Contacts of Acquaintanceship 


Two of the best sociological statements of primary contacts are to 
be found in Professor Cooley’s analysis of primary groups in his book 
Social Organization and in Shaler’s exposition of the sympathetic 
way of approach in his volume The Neighbor. A mass of descriptive 
material for the further study of the primary contacts is available 
from many sources. Studies of primitive peoples indicate that 
early social organizations were based upon ties of kinship and primary 
group contacts. Village life in all ages and with all races exhibits 
absolute standards and stringent primary controls of behavior. The 
Blue Laws of Connecticut are little else than primary-group attitudes 
written into law. Common law, the traditional code of legal conduct 
sanctioned by the experience of primary groups, may be compared 
with statute law, which is an abstract prescription for social life in 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 331 


secondary societies. Here also should be included the consideration 
of programs and projects for community organization upon the basis 
of primary contacts, as for example, Ward’s The Social Center. 


4. Secondary Contacts 


The transitign from feudal societies of villages and towns to our 
modern world- Mety of great cosmopolitan cities has received more 
attention from economics and politics than from sociology. Studies 
of the industrial basis of city slife have given us the external pattern 
of the city: its topographical conditions, the concentration of popu- 
lation as an outcome of large-scale production, division of labor, 
and specialization of effort. Research in municipal government has 
proceeded from the muck-raking period, indicated by Lincoln Steffens’ 
The Shame of the Cities, to surveys of public utilities and city admin- 
istration of the type of those made by the New York Bureau of 
Municipal Research. 

Social interest in the city was first stimulated by the polemics 
against the political and social disorders of urban life. There were 
those who would destroy the city in order to remedy its evils and 
restore the simple life of the country. Sociology sought a surer basis 
for the solution of the problems from a study of the facts of city life. 
Statistics of population by governmental departments provide figures 
upon conditions and tendencies. Community surveys have trans- 
lated into understandable form a mass of information about the 
formal aspects of city life. 

Naturally enough, sympathetic and arresting pictures of city life 
have come from residents of settlements as in Jane Addam’s Twenty 
Years at Hull House, Robert Woods’s The City Wilderness, Lillian 
Wald’s The House on Henry Street and Mrs. Simkhovitch’s The City 
Worker’s World. Georg Simmel has made the one outstanding 
contribution to a sociology or, perhaps better, a social philosophy of 
the city in his paper ‘‘The Great City and Cultural Life.” 


~* 


332 © INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


BIBLIOGRAPHY: MATERIALS FOR THE STUDY OF 
SOCIAL CONTACTS 


I. THE NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF SOCIAL CONTACTS 


(1) Small, Albion W. General Sociology. An exposition of the main 
development in sociological theory from Spencer to Ratzenhofer, 
pp. 486-91. Chicago, 1905. 

(2) Tarde, Gabriel. The Laws of Imitation. Translated from the French by 
Elsie Clews Parsons. Chap. iii,‘‘ What Is a Society ?” New York, 1903. 

(3) Thomas, W. I. ‘‘Race Psychology: Standpoint and Questionnaire, 
with Particular Reference to the Immigrant and the Negro,”’ American 
Journal of Sociology, XVII (May, 1912), 725-75. 

(4) Boas, Franz. The Mind of Primitive Man. New York, ror1t. 

(5) Weber, Max. Gesammelte Aufsdtze zur Wissenschaftslehre. ‘Ueber 
einige Kategorien der verstehenden Soziologie,” pp. 403-50. ‘Tiibingen, 
1922. 

(6) Bullough, Edward. ‘‘ ‘Psychical Distance’ as a Factor in Art and an 
Aesthetic Principle,” The British Journal of Psychology, V (1912-13), 
87-118. 


II. INTIMATE SOCIAL CONTACTS AND THE SOCIOLOGY OF THE SENSES 


(1) Simmel, Georg. Soztologie. Untersuchungen iiber die Formen der 
Vergesellschaftung. Exkurs iiber die Soziologie der Sinne, pp. 646-65. 
Leipzig, 1908. 

(2) Crawley, E. The Mystic Rose. A study of primitive marriage. 
London and New York, 1902. 

(3) Sully, James. Sensation and Intuition. Studies in psychology and 
aesthetics. Chap. iv, “Belief: Its Varieties and Its Conditions.” 
London, 1874. 

(4) Hudson, William H. A Hind in Richmond Park. (Chaps. vi-viii, 
pp. 72-117, discuss the sociological significance of smell.) New York, 
1923. 

(5) Moll, Albert. Der Rapport in der Hypnose. Leipzig, 1892. 

(6) Elworthy, F. T. The Evil Eye. An account of this ancient and 
widespread superstition. London, 1895. 

(7) Lévy-Bruhl, L. Les fonctions mentales dans les sociétés inférieures. 
Paris, 1910. 

(8) Starbuck, Edwin D. ‘‘The Intimate Senses as Sources of Wisdom,” 
The Journal of Religion, J (March, 1921), 129-45. 

(9) Paulhan, Fr. Les transformations sociales des sentiments. Paris, 1920. 

(to) Stoll, O. Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Vélkerpsychologie. 
Chap. ix, pp. 225-29. Leipzig, 1904. ; 

(11) Hooper, Charles E. Common Sense. An analysis and interpret&tion. 
Being a discussion of its general character, its distinction from dis- 
cursive reasoning, its origin in mental imagery, its speculative outlook, 
its value for practical life and social well-being, its relation to scient 
knowledge, and its bearings on the problems of natural and rational 
causation. London, 1913. 





SOCIAL CONTACTS 333 


(12) Weigall, A. ‘“‘The Influence of the Kinematograph upon National 
Life,” Nineteenth Century and After, LXXXIX (April. 1921), 661-72. 


II. MATERIALS FOR THE STUDY OF MOBILITY 


(1) VaJlaux, Camille. ‘Le sol et l’état,” Geographie sociale. Paris, rgrt. 
(2) Demolins, Edmond. Comment la route crée le type social. Les grandes 
routes des peupies: essai de géographie social. 2 vols. Paris, rgor. 

(3) Vandervelde, E. L’exode rural et le retour aux champs. Chap. iv, 
“Les conséquences de |’exode rural.” (Sec. 3 discusses the political 
and intellectual, the physical and moral consequences of the rural 
exodus, pp. 202-13.) Paris, 1903. 

(4) Bury, J. B. A History of Freedom of Thought. London and New 
Ore ators. : 

(5) Bloch, Iwan. Die Prostitution. Handbuch der gesamten Sexual- 
wissenschaft in Einzeldarstellungen. Berlin, rgr2. 

(6) Pagnier, Armand. Du vagabondage et des vagabonds. Etude psy- 
chologique, sociologique et médico-légale. Lyon, 1906. 

(7) Laubach, Frank C. Why There Are Vagrants. A study based upon 
an examination of one hundred men. New York, 1916. 

(8) Ribton-Turner, Charles J. A History of Vagrants and Vagrancy and 
Beggars and Begging. London, 1887. 

(9) Florian, Eugenio. J vagabondi. Studio sociologicogiuridico. Parte 
prima, “‘L’Evoluzione del vagabondaggio,” pp. 1-124. Torino, 
1897-1900. 

(10) Devine, Edward T. ‘‘The Shiftless and Floating City Population,” 
Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, X 
(September, 1897), 1493164. 

(x1) Anderson, Nels. Zhe Hobo. The sociology of the homeless man. 
Chicago, 1923. 


IV. SOCIAL CONTACTS IN PRIMARY GROUPS 


(1) Sumner, Wm. G. Folkways. A study of the sociological importance 
of usages, manners, customs, mores, and morals. ‘‘The In-Group 
and the Out-Group,” pp. 12-16. Boston, 1906. 

(2) Crothers, Samuel M. The Book of Friendship. New York, 1922. 

(3) Vierkandt, Alfred. Naturvolker und Kulturvolker. Ein Beitrag zur 
Socialpsychologie. Leipzig, 1806. 

(4) Pandian,T.B. Jndian Village Folk. Their works and ways. London, 
1897 

(5) Dobschiitz, Ernst von. Die urchristlichen Gemeinden. Sittengeschicht- 
liche Bilder. Leipzig, 1902. 

(6) Kautsky, Karl. Communism in Central Europe in the Time of the 
Reformation. Translated by J. L. and E.G. Mulliken. London, 1897. 

(7) Hupka, S. von. Entwicklung der westgalizischen Dor{zustinde in der 
2.. Hdlfte des s9. Jahrhunderts, verfoigt in einem Dérferkomplex. 
Ziirich, gto. 

(8) Wallace, D. Mackenzie. Russia. Chaps. vi, vii, vili, and ix. New 
York, 1905. 

(9) Ditchfield, P.H. Old Village Life, or, Glimpses of Village Life through 
All Ages. New York, 1920. 


334 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(ro) Smith, Arthur H. Village Life in China. A study in sociology. 
New York, 1899. 

(11) Hammond, John L., and Hammond, Barbara. The Village Labourer, 
1760-1832. A study i in the government of Englang before the reform 
bill. London, rort. 

(12) The Blue Laws of Connecticut. A collection of the earliest statutes 
and judicial proceedings of that colony, being an exhibition of the 
rigorous morals and legislation of the Puritans. Edited with an intro- 
duction by Samuel M. Schmucker. Philadelphia, 1861. 

(13) Nordhoff, C. The Communistic Societies of the United States. From 
personal visit and observation. Including detailed accounts of the 
Economists, Zoarites, Shakers, the Amana, Oneida, Bethel, Aurora, 
Icarian, and other existing societies, their religious creeds, social 
practices, numbers, industries, and present condition. New York, 
1875. 

(14) Hinds, William A. American Communities and Co-operative Colonies. 
2d rev. ed. Chicago, 1908. [Contains notices of 144 communities in 
the United States. | 

(15) L’Houet, A. Zur Psychologie des Bauerntums. Ein Beitrag. 
Tiibingen, 1905. 

(16) Pennington, Patience. A Woman Rice-Planter. New York, 1913. 

(17) Smedes, Susan D. A Southern Planter. London, 1889. 

(18) Sims, Newell L. The Rural Community, Ancient and Modern. Chap. 
iv, ‘The Disintegration of the Village Community.” New York, 1920. 

(19) Anderson, Wilbert L. The Country Town. A study of rural evolution. 
New York, 1906. 


(20) Zola, Emile. La Terre. Paris, 1907. [Romance.] 


V. SOCIAL CONTACTS IN SECONDARY GROUPS 


(1) Weber, Adna Ferrin. The Growth of Cities in the Nineteenth Century. 
A study i in statistics. New York, 1899. 

(2) Preuss, Hugo. Die Entwicklung des deutschen Stiédtewesens. I Band. 
Leipzig, 1906. 

(3) Burgess, Ernest W. “The Growth of the City; an Introduction toa 
Research Project,” Publications of the American Sociological Society, 
XVIII (1923), 85-97. 

(4) Green, Alice S. A. (Mrs. J. R.). Town Life in the Fifteenth Century. 
London and New York, 1894. . 

(5) Toynbee, Arnold. Lectures on the Industrial Revolution of the Eighteenth 
Century in England. London, 1890. 

(6) Hammond, J. L., and Hammond, Barbara. The Town Labourer, 
1760-1832. The new civilization. London, 1917. 

The Skilled Labourer, 1760-1832. London, 191g. [Presents 

the detailed history of particular bodies of skilled workers during the 

great change of the Industrial Revolution.] 





SOCIAL CONTACTS S55 


(8) Jastrow, J. ‘Die Stadtgemeinschaft in ihren kulturellen Bezieh- 
ungen.” (Indicates the institutions which have come into existence 
under conditions of urban community life.) Zeitschrift fiir Social- 
wissenschaft, X (1907), 42-51, 92-101. [Bibliography.] 

(9) Sombart, Werner. The Jews and Modern Capitalism. Translated 

_ from the German by M. Epstein. London, 19713. 

To) . The Quintessence of Capitalism. A study of the history and 
psychology of the modern business man. Translated from the 
German by M. Epstein. New York, rors. 

(11) Pound, Arthur. The Iron Man in Industry. An outline of the social 
significance of automatic machinery. Boston, 1922. 

(12) Spengler, Oswald. Der Untergang des Abendlandes. Umrisse einer 
Morphologie der Weltgeschichte. Vol. II, chap. ui, “Staédte und 
Volker,” pp. roo-224. Miinchen, 1922. 

(13) Wallas, Graham. The Great Society. A psychological analysis. 
New York, rorq. 

(14) Booth, Charles. Life and Labour of the People in London. V, East 
London, chap. ii, ‘‘The Docks.” III, chap. iv, ‘‘ Influx of Population.” 
London, 1892. 

(15) Marpillero, G. ‘‘Saggio di psicologia dell’urbanismo,” Rivista italiana 
di sociologia, XII (1908), 599-626. 

(16) Besant, Walter. East London. London and New York, 1901. 

(17) The Pitisburgh Survey—the Pittsburgh District. Robert A. Woods, 
“Pittsburgh, an Interpretation.”” Allen T. Burns, ‘Coalition of 
Pittsburgh Coal Fields.’’ New York, ror4. 

(18) Hull House Maps and Papers. A presentation of nationalities and 
wages in a congested district of Chicago, together with comments and 
essays on problems growing out of the social conditions. New York, 
1895. 

(19) Addams, Jane. Twenty Years at Hull House. With autobiographical 
notes. New York, rogro. 








(20) The Spirit of Youth and the City Streets. New York, 1909. 

(21) Simkhovitch, Mary K. The City Worker’s World in America. New 
York, 1917. 

(22) Park, R. E., and Miller, H. A. Old World Traits Transplanted. New 
WOrks To27T. 

(23). Park, Robert E. The Immigrant Press and Its Control. New York, 
1922. 


(24) Steiner, J. F. The Japanese Invasion. A study in the psychology of 
inter-racial contacts. Chicago, 1917. 

(25) Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe and 
America. Monograph of an immigrant group. Vol. IV. Boston, 
1918. 

(26) Park, Robert E. “Magic, Mentality, and City Life,” Publications of 
the American Sociological Society, XVIII (1923), 102-15. 


[See also bibliography, ‘‘Personal Documents,” pp. 781-82.] 


336 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. The Land as the Basis for Social Contacts 


2. Density of Population, Social Contacts and Social Organization 
3. Mobility and Social Types, as the Gypsy, the Nomad, the Hobo, the 


aS 


com NN 


Io. 


Ids 


To. 
ice 


I4. 
Le: 


16. 
I7. 


Pioneer, the Commercial Traveler, the Missionary, the Globe-Trotter, 
the Wandering Jew 


. Stability and Social Types, as the Farmer, the Home-Owner, the 


Business Man 


. Sensory Experience and Human Behavior. Nostalgia (Homesickness) 
. Race Prejudice and Primary Contacts 

. Taboo and Social Contact 

. Social Contacts in a Primary Group, as the Family, the Play Group, 


the Neighborhood, the Village 


. Social Control in Primary Groups 


The Substitution of Secondary for Primary Contacts as the Cause of 
Social Problems, as Poverty, Crime, Prostitution, etc. . — 

Control of Problems through Secondary Contacts, as Charity Organi- 
zation Society, Social Service Registration Bureau, Police Department, 
Morals Court, Publicity through the Press, etc. 

The Industrial Revolution and the Great Society 

Attempts to Revive Primary Groups in the City, as the Social Center, 
the Settlement, the Social Unit Experiment, etc. 

Attempts to Restore Primary Contacts between Employer and 
Employee 

The Anonymity of the Newspaper 

Standardization and Impersonality of the Great Society 

The Sociology of the Stranger; a Study of the Revivalist, the Expert, 
the Genius, the Trader 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand by the term contact ? 
. What are the ways in which geographic conditions influence social 


contacts P 


. What are the differences in contact with the land between primitive 


and modern peoples ? 


. In what ways do increasing social contacts affect contacts with the 


soil? Give concrete illustrations. 


. What is the social significance of touch as compared with that of the 


other senses ? 


6. In what sense is touch a social contact ? 


. By what principle do you explain desire or aversion for contact ? 


oO 


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12. 


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17. 


18. 


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20. 


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Bee 
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26. 
27. 


28. 
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32. 


SOCIAL CONTACTS 337 


. Give illustrations indicating the significance of touch in various fields 


of social life. 

How do you explain the impulse to touch objects which attract attention? 
What are the differences in contacts within and without the group in 
primitive society ? 

In what way do external relations affect the contacts within the group? 
Give illustrations of group egotism or ethnocentrism. 

To what extent does the dependence of the solidarity of the in-group 
upon its relations with the out-groups have a bearing upon present 
international relations ? 

To what extent is the social control of the immigrant dependent upon 
the maintenance of the solidarity of the immigrant group? 


. What are our reactions upon meeting a person? a friend? a stranger ? 
. What do you understand Shaler to mean by the statement that “‘at 


the beginning of any acquaintance the fellow-being is evidently dealt 
with in the categoric way” ? 

How far is “the sympathetic way of approach” practical in human 
relations ? 

What is the difference in the basis of continuity between animal and 
human society ? 

What types of social contacts make for historical continuity ? 

What are the differences of social contacts in the movements of primi- 
tive and civilized peoples ? 

To what extent is civilization dependent upon increasing contacts and 
intimacy of contacts ? 

Does mobility always mean increasing contacts ? 

Under what conditions does mobility contribute to the increase of 
experience ? 

Does the hobo get more experience than the schoolboy ? 

Contrast the advantages and limitations of historical continuity and of 
mobility. 

What do you understand by a primary group? 

Are primary contacts limited to members of face-to-face groups ? 
What attitudes and relations characterize village life ? 

Interpret sociologically the control by the group of the behavior of the 
individual in a rural community. 

Why has the growth of the city resulted in the substitution of secondary 
for primary social contacts ? 

What problems grow out of the breakdown of primary relations? What 
problems are solved by the breakdown of primary relations ? 

Do the contacts of city life make for the development of individuality ? 
personality ? social types ? 


338 
33- 
34- 


35: 


36. 
ae 
38. 


39. 
40. 


AT 


42. 
43. 


45. 


46. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In what ways does publicity function as a form of secondary contact 
in American life ? 

Why does the European peasant first become a reader of newspapers 
after his immigration to the United States? 

Why does the shift from country to city involve a change (a) from 
concrete to abstract relations; (b) from absolute to relative standards 
of life; (c) from personal to impersonal relations; and (d) from senti- 
mental to rational attitudes ? 

How far is social solidarity based upon concrete and sentimental rather 
than upon abstract and rational relations ? 

Why does immigration make for change from sentimental to rational 
attitudes toward life ? 

In what way is capitalism associated with the growth of secondary 
contacts P 

How does ‘‘the stranger” include externality and intimacy ? 

In what ways would you illustrate the relation described by Simmel 
that combines “the near” and “‘the far” ? 

Why is it that “‘the stranger” is associated with revolutions and destruc- _ 
tive forces in the group? 

Why does ‘‘the stranger” have prestige ? 

In what sense is the attitude of the academic man that of “‘the stranger” 
as compared with the attitude of the practical man ? 


. To what extent does the professional man have the characteristics of 


“the stranger” ? 

Why does the feeling of a relation as unique give it value that it loses 
when thought of as shared by others ? 

What would be the effect upon the problem of the relation of the whites 
and negroes in the United States of the recognition that this relation is 
of the same kind as that which exists between other races in similar 
situations ? . 


CHAPTER VI 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. The Concept of Interaction 


The idea of interaction is not a notion of common sense. It 
represents the culmination of long-continued reflection by human 
beings in their ceaseless effort to resolve the ancient paradox of 
unity in diversity, the “one” and the “many,” to find law and order 
in the apparent chaos of physical changes and social events; and 
thus to find explanations for the behavior of the universe, of society, 
and of man. 

The disposition to be curious and reflective about the physical 
and social universe is human enough. For men, in distinction from 
animals, live in a world of ideas as well as in a realm of immediate 
reality. This world of ideas is something more than the mirror 
that sense-perception offers us; something less than that ultimate 
reality to which it seems to be a prologue and invitation. Man, in 
his ambition to be master of himself and of nature, looks behind the 
mirror, to analyze phenomena and seek causes, in order to gain 
control. Science, natural science, is a research for causes, that is to 
say, for mechanisms, which in turn find application in technical 
_ devices, organization, and machinery, in which mankind asserts its 
control over physical nature and eventually over man himself. Edu- 
cation, in its technical aspects at least, is a device of social control, 
just as the printing press is an instrument that may be used for the 
same purpose. 

Sociology, like other natural sciences, aims at prediction and 
control based on an investigation of the nature of man and society, 
and nature means here, as elsewhere in science, just those aspects of 
life that are determined and predictable. In order to describe man 
and society in terms which will reveal their nature, sociology is 
compelled to reduce the complexity and richness of life to the simplest 


339 


340 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


terms, i.e., elements and forces. Once the concepts “‘elements”’ or 
“‘forces”’ en been accepted, the notion of interaction is an inevit- 
able, logical development. In astronomy, for example, these elements 
are (a) the masses of the heavenly bodies, (0) their position, (c) the 
direction of their movement, and (d) their velocity. In sociology, 
these forces are institutions, tendencies, human beings, ideas, any- 
thing that embodies and expresses motives and wishes. In principle, 
and with reference to their logical character, the “forces” and “ele- 
-ments”’ in sociology may be compared with the Muses and elements 
in any other natural science. 

Ormond, in his Foundations of Knowledge, gives an illuminating 
analysis of interaction as a concept which may be applied equally 
to the behavior of physical objects and persons. 


The notion of interaction is not simple but very complex. The notion 
involves not simply the idea of bare collision and rebound, but something 
much more profound, namely, the internal modifiability of the colliding 
agents. Take for example the simplest possible case, that of one billiard 
ball striking against another. We say that the impact of one ball against 
another communicates motion, so that the stricken ball passes from a state 
of rest to one of motion, while the striking ball has experienced a change of 
an opposite character. But nothing is explained by this account, for if 
nothing happens but the communication of motion, why does it not pass 
through the stricken ball and leave its state unchanged? The phenomenon 
cannot be of this sintple character, but there must be a point somewhere 
at which the recipient of the impulse gathers itself up, so to speak, into a 
knot and becomes the subject of the impulse which is thus translated into 
movement. We have thus movement, impact, impulse, which is translated 
again into activity, and outwardly the billiard ball changing from a state 
of rest to one of motion; or in the case of the impelling ball, from a state 
of motion to one of rest. Now the case of the billiard balls is one of the 
simpler examples of interaction. We have seen that the problem it supplies 
is not simple but very complex. The situation is not thinkable at all if we 
do not suppose the internal modifiability of the agents, and this means that 
these agents are able somehow to receive internally and to re-act upon 
impulses which are communicated externally in the form of motion or 
activity. The simplest form of interaction involves the supposition, 
therefore, of internal subject-points or their analogues from which impulsions — 
are received and responded to. 


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a v1 ERACTION 341 
Simmel, among socio cal writers, although he nowher\ 
expressly defines the term, employed the conception of inter 
action with a clear sense of its logical significance. Gumplowicz 
on the other hand, has sought to define social interaction as a principl 
fundamental to all natural sciences, that is to say, sciences that see 
to describe change in terms of a process, i.e., physics, chemistry} 
biology, psychology. The logical principle is the same in all thes 
sciences; the processes and the elements are different. a 


2. Classification of the Materials 


The material in this chapter will be considered here under three 
main heads: (a) society as interaction, (6) communication as the 
medium of interaction, and (c) imitation and suggestion as mechan- 
isms of interaction. 

a) Society as interaction.—Society stated in mechanistic terms 
reduces to interaction. A person is a member of society so long as he: 
responds to social forces; when interaction ends, he is isolated and 
detached; he ceases to be a person and becomes a “lost soul.” This 
is the reason that the limits of society are coterminous with the 
limits of interaction, that is, of the participation of persons in the 
life of society. One way of measuring the wholesome or the normal 
life of a person is by the sheer external fact of his membership in the 
social groups of the community in which his lot is cast. 

Simmel has illustrated in a wide survey of concrete detail how 
interaction defines the group in time and space. Through contacts 
of historical continuity,—the life of society extends backward to 
prehistoric eras. More potent over group behavior than contem- 
porary discovery and invention is the control exerted by the ‘dead 
hand of the past” through the inertia of folkways and mores, through 
the revival of memories and sentiments and through the persistence 
of tradition and culture. Contacts of mobility, on the other hand, 
define the area of the interaction of the members of the group in space. 
The degree of departure from accepted ideas and modes of behavior 
and the extent of sympathetic approach to the strange and the novel 
largely depend upon the rate, the number, and the intensity of the 
contacts of mobility. 

b) Communication as the medium of social interaction—Each 
science postulates its own medium of interaction. Astronomy and 


342 © INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


physics assume a hypothetical substance, the ether. Physics has its 
principles of molar action and reaction; chemistry studies molecular 
interaction. Biology and medicine direct their research to the 
physiological interaction of organisms. Psychology is concerned 
\rith the behavior of the individual organism in terms of the inter- 
action of stimuli and responses. Sociology, as collective psychology, 
deals with communication. Sociologists have referred to this process 
as intermental stimulation and response. 

The readings on communication are so arranged as to make 
clear the three natural levels of interaction: (x) that of the senses; 
(y) that of the emotions; and (z) that of sentiments and ideas. 

Interaction through sense-perceptions and emotional responses 
may be termed the natural forms of communication since they are 
common to man and to animals. Simmel’s interpretation of inter- 
action through the senses is suggestive of the subtle, unconscious, yet 
profound, way in which personal attitudes are formed. Not alone 
vision, but hearing, smell and touch exhibit in varying degrees 
the emotional responses of the type of appreciation. This means 
understanding other persons or objects on the perceptual basis. 

The selections from Darwin and from Morgan upon emotional 
expression in animals indicate how natural expressive signs become a 
vehicle for communication. A prepossession for speech and ideas 
blinds man to the important réle in human conduct still exerted by 
emotional communication, facial expression, and gesture. Blushing 
and laughter are peculiarly significant, because these forms of emo- 
tional response are distinctively human. To say that a person 
blushes when he is self-conscious, that he laughs when he is detached. 
from, and superior to, and yet interested in, an occurrence means that 
blushing and laughter represent contrasted attitudes to a social 
situation. The relation of blushing and laughter to social control, 
as an evidence of the emotional dependence of the person upon ae 
group, is at its apogee in adolescence. 

Interaction through sensory impressions and emotional expres- 
sion is restricted to the communication of attitudes and feelings. 
The selections under the heading “Language and the Communication 
of Ideas” bring out the uniquely human character of speech. Con- 
cepts, as Max Miiller insists, are the common symbols wrought out 
in social experience. They are more or less conventionalized, objective, 


a, ieee. HH er FS 











SOCIAL INTERACTION — 343 
and intelligible symbols that have been defi ed in terms of a common 
experience or, as the logicians say, of a ui se of discourse. Every 
group has its own universe of discourse. - rt, to use Durkheim’s 
phrase, concepts are “collective representa 

History has been variously conceived ste 
epoch-making personalities, social movem ents, i d cultural Shite 
From the point of view of sociology social evolu ion might profitably 
be studied in its relation to the developme nt and perfection of the 
means and technique of communication. a revolutionary was the 
transition from word of mouth and memory to written records! The 
beginnings of ancient civilization with its five independent centers in 
Egypt, the Euphrates River Valley, China, Mexico, and Peru appear ; 
to be inextricably bound up with the change from pictographs to 
writing, that is to say from symbols representing words to symbols 
representing sounds. The modern period began with the invention 
of printing and the printing press. As books became the possession 
of the common man the foundation was laid for experiments in 
democracy. From the sociological standpoint the_book js an organ- 
ized objective mind whose thoughts are accessible to all. The réle ~ 
of the book in social life has long been recognized but not fully appre- 
ciated. ‘The Christian church, to be sure, regards the Bible as the 
word of God. The army does not question the infallibility of the 
Manual of Arms. Our written Constitution has been termed ‘‘the 
ark of the covenant.” ‘The orthodox Socialist appeals in unquestion- 
ing faith to the ponderous tomes of Marx. 

World-society of today, which depends upon the almost instan- 
taneous communication of events and opinion around the world, 
rests upon the invention of telegraphy and the laying of the great 
ocean cables. Wireless telegraphy and radio have only perfected 
these earlier means and render impossible a monopoly or a censorship 
of inter-communication between peoples. The traditional cultures, 
the social inheritances of ages of isolation, are now in a world-process 
of interaction and modification as a result of the rapidity and the | 
impact of these modern means of the circulation of ideas and senti- 
ments. At the present time it is so popular to malign the newspaper 
that few recognize the extent to which news has freed mankind from 
the control of political parties, social institutions, and, it may be 
added, from the ‘‘tyranny”’ of books. 


> 


344 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


c) Imitation and suggestion the mechanistic forms of i-teraction.— 
In all forms of communication behavior changes occur, but in two 
cases the processes have been analyzed, defined, and reduced to 
simple terms, viz., in imitation and in suggestion. 

Imitation, as the etymology of the term implies, is a process of 


ry copying or learning. But imitation is fearning only so far as it has 


‘ the character of an experiment, or trial and error. It is also obvious 
that so-called “instinctive” imitation is not learning at all. Since 
the results of experimental psychology have limited the field of 
instinctive imitation to a few simple activities, as the tendencies to 
run when others run, to laugh when others laugh, its place in human 
life becomes of slight importance as compared with imitation which 
involves persistent effort at reproducing standard patterns of behavior. 

This human tendency, under social influences, to reproduce the 
-copy Stout has explained in psychological terms of attention and 
interest. The interests determine the run of attention, and the 
direction of attention fixes the copies to be imitated. Without in 
any way discounting the psychological validity of this explanation, 
or its practical value in educational application, social factors con- 
trolling interest and attention should not be disregarded. In a 
primary group, social control narrowly restricts the selection of 
patterns and behavior. In an isolated group the individual may 
have no choice whatsoever. Then, again, attention may be deter- 
mined, not by interests arising from individual capacity or aptitude, 
but rather from rapport, that is, from interest in the prestige or in 
\the personal traits of the individual presenting the copy. 

The relation of the somewhat complex process of imitation to the 
simple method of trial and error is of significance. Learning by 
imitation implies at once both identification of the person with the 
individual presenting the copy and yet differentiation from him. 
Through imitation we appreciate the other person. We are in 
sympathy or ex rapport with him, while at the same time we appro- 
priate his sentiment and his technique. Ribot and Adam Smith 
analyze this relation of imitation to sympathy and Hirn points out 
that in art this process of internal imitation is indispensable for 
aesthetic appreciation. 

In this process of appreciation and learning the primitive method 
of trial and error comes into the service of imitation. Ina real sense 


a 


anal 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 345 


imitation is mechanical and conservative; it provides a basis for 
originality, but its function is to transmit, not to originate the new. 
On the other hand, the simple process of trial and error, a common 
possession of man and the animals, results in discovery and invention. 

The most scientifically controlled situation for the play of sug- 
gestion isin hypnosis. An analysis of the observed facts of hypnotism 
will be helpful in arriving at an understanding of the mechanism of 
suggestion in everyday life. The essential facts of hypnotism may 
be briefly summarized as follows: (a) The establishment of a relation 
of rapport between the experimenter and the subject of such a nature 
that the latter carries out suggestions presented by the former. 
(b) The successful response by the subject to*the suggestion is con- 
ditional upon its relation to his past experience. (c) The subject 
responds to his own idea of the suggestion, and not to the idea as 
conceived by the experimenter. A consideration of cases is sufficient 
to convince the student of a complete parallel between suggestion in 
social life with suggestion in hypnosis, so far, at least, as concerns the 
last two points. Wherever rapport develops between persons, as in 
the love of mother and son, the affection of lovers, the comradeship 
of intimate friends, there also arises the mechanism of the reciprocal 
influence of suggestion. But in normal~social situations, unlike 
hypnotism, there may be the effect of suggestion where no rapport 
exists. 

Herein lies the significance of the differentiation made by Bech- 
terew between active perception and passive perception. In passive 
perception ideas and sentiments evading the “ego” enter the “sub- 
conscious mind” and, uncontrolled by the active perception, form 
organizations or complexes of ‘‘lost’? memories. It thus comes about 
that in social situations, where no rapport exists between two persons, 
a suggestion may be made which, by striking the right chord of mem- 
ory or by resurrecting a forgotten sentiment, may transform the life 
of the other, as in conversion. The area of suggestion in social life is 
indicated in a second paper selected from Bechterew. In later 
chapters upon “Social Control” and ‘Collective Behavior’ the 
mechanism of suggestion in the determination of group behavior will 
be further considered. 

Imitation and suggestion are both mechanisms of social inter- 
action in which an individual or group is controlled by another 


346 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


individual or group. The distinction between the two processes is now 
clear. The characteristic mark of imitation is the tendency, under 
the influence of copies socially presented, to build up mechanisms of 
habits, sentiments, ideals, and patterns of life. The process of 
suggestion, as differentiated from imitation in social interaction, is 
to_release under_the appropriate social stimuli mechanisms already 
organized, whether instincts, habits, or sentiments. The other differ- 
ences between imitation and suggestion grow out of this fundamental 
distinction. In imitation attention is alert, now on the copy and 
now on the response. In suggestion the attention is either absorbed 
in, or distracted from, the stimulus. In imitation the individual is 
self conscious; the subject in suggestion is unconscious of his behavior. 
In imitation the activity tends to’ reproduce the copy; in suggestion 
the response may be like or unlike the copy. : 


II. MATERIALS, 
A. SOCIETY AS INTERACTION 


1. The Mechanistic Interpretation of Society’ 


In every natural process we may observe the two essential factors 
which constitute it, namely, heterogeneous elements and their recip- 
rocal interaction which we ascribe to certain natural forces. We 
observe these factors in the natural process of the stars, by which the 
different heavenly bodies exert certain influences over each other, which 
we ascribe either to the force of attraction or to gravity. 

“No material bond unites the planets to the sun. The direct 
activity of an elementary force, the general force of attraction, holds 
both in an invisible connection by the elasticity of its influence.” 

In the chemical natural process we observe the most varied elements 
related to each other in the most various ways. ‘They attract or 
repulse each other.. They enter into combinations or they withdraw 
from them. ‘These are nothing but actions and interactions which we 
ascribe to certain forces inherent in these elements. , 

The vegetable and animal natural process begins, at any rate, with 
the contact of heterogeneous elements which we characterize as sexual 
cells (gametes). ‘They exert upon each other a reciprocal influence 
which sets into activity the vegetable and animal process. 


‘Translated and adapted from Ludwig Gumplowicz, Der Rassenkampf, 
pp. 158-61. (Innsbruck: Wagnerische Univ. Buchhandlung, 1883.) 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 347 


The extent to which science is permeated by the hypothesis that 
neterogeneous elements reacting upon each other are necessary to a 
natural process is best indicated by the atomic theory. 

Obviously, it is conceded that the origins of all natural processes 
cannot better be explained than by the assumption of the existence in 
bodies of invisible particles, each of which has some sort of separate 
existence and reacts upon the others. 

The entire hypothesis is only the consequence of the concept of a 
natural process which the observation of nature has produced in the 
human mind. 

Even though we conceive the social process as characteristic and 
different from the four types of natural processes mentioned above, 
still there must be identified in it the two essential factors which con- 
stitute the generic conception of the natural process. And this is, in 
fact, what we find. The numberless human groups, which we assume as 
the earliest beginnings of human existence, constitute the great variety 
of heterogeneous ethnic elements. These have decreased with the 
decrease in the number of hordes and tribes. From. the foregoing 
explanation we are bound to assume as certain that in this field we are 
concerned with ethnically different and heterogeneous elements. 

The question now remains as to the second constitutive element 
of a natural process, namely, the definite interaction of these elements, 
and especially as to those interactions which are characterized by regu- 
larity and permanency. Of course, we must avoid analogy with the 
reciprocal interaction of heterogeneous elements in the domain of other 
natural processes. In strict- conformity with the scientific method we 
take into consideration merely such interactions as the facts of common 
knowledge and actual experience ‘offer us. Thus will we be able, 
happily, to formulate a principle of the reciprocal interaction of hetero- 
geneous ethnic, or, if you will, social elements, the mathematical cer- 
tainty and universality of which cannot be denied irrefutably, since 
it manifests itself ever and everywhere in the field of history and the 
living present. 

This principle may be very simply stated: Every stronger ethnic 
or social group strives to subjugate and make serviceable to its purposes 
every weaker element which exists or may come within the field of its 
influence. This thesis of the relation of heterogeneous ethnic and 
social elements to each other, with all the consequences proceeding 








348 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


from it, contains within it the key to the solution of the entire riddle of 
the natural process of human history. We shall see this thesis illus- 
trated ever and everywhere in the past and the present in the inter- 
relations of heterogeneous ethnic and social elements and become 
convinced of its universal yalidify. In this latter relation it does not 
correspond at all to such natural laws, as, for example, attraction and 
gravitation or chemical affinity, or to the laws of vegetable and animal 
life. In order better to conceive of this social natural law in its general 
validity, we must study it in its different consequences and in the 
various forms which it assumes according to circumstances and 
conditions. 

Ke “ 2. Social Interaction as the Definition of the Group 

in Time and Space’ 


Society exists wherever several individuals are in reciprocal relation- 
ship. This reciprocity arises always from specific impulses or by virtue 
of specific purposes. Erotic, religious, or merely associative impulses, 
purposes of defense or of attack, of play as well as of gain, of aid and 
instruction, and countless others bring it to pass that men enter into 
group relationships of acting for, with, against, one another; that is, 
_ men exercise an influence upon these conditions of association and are 
influenced by them. ‘These reactions signify that out of the individual 
bearers of those occasioning impulses and purposes a unity, that is, 
a “‘society,”’ comes into being. 

An organic body is a unity because its organs are in a relationship 
of more intimate interchange of their energies than with any external 
being. A state is one because between its citizens the corresponding 
relationship of reciprocal influences exists. We could, indeed, not call 
the world one if each of its parts did not somehow influence every other, 
if anywhere the reciprocity of the influences, however mediated, were - 
cut off. That unity, or socialization, may, according to the kind and 
degree of reciprocity, have very different gradations, from the ephemeral | 
combination for a promenade to the family; from all relationships “ 
will” to membership in a state; from the temporary aggregation of 
the guests in a hotel to the intimate bond of a medieval guild. 


* Translated from Georg Simmel, Soziologie, by Albion W. Small, a 
Journal of Sociology, XV (1909), 296-98; III (1898), 667-83. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 349 


Everything now which is present in the individuals—the immediate 
concrete locations of all historical actuality—in the nature of impulse, 
interest, purpose, inclination, psychical adaptability, and movement 
of such sort that thereupon or therefrom occurs influence upon others, 
or the reception of influence from them—all this I designate as the con- 
tent or the material of socialization. In and of themselves, these 
materials with which life is filled, these motivations which impel it, are 
not social in their nature. Neither hunger nor love, neither labor nor 
religiosity, neither the technique nor the functions and results of intel- 
ligence, as they are given immediately and in their strict sense, signify 
socialization. On the contrary, they constitute it only when they shape 
the isolated side-by-sideness of the individuals into definite forms of 
with-and-for-one-another, which belong under the general concept of 
reciprocity. Socialization is thus the form, actualizing itself in count- 
less various types, in which the individuals—on the basis of those 
interests, sensuous or ideal, momentary or permanent, conscious or 
unconscious, casually driving or purposefully leading—grow together 
into a unity, and within which these interests come to realization. 

That which constitutes “society” is evidently types of reciprocal \ 
ge Any collection of human beings whatsoever becomes 

“society,” not by virtue of the fact that i in each of the number there is 
a life-content which actuates the individual as such, but only when the 
vitality of these contents attains the form of reciprocal -influenciag. 
Only when an influence is exerted, whether immediately or through a 
third party, from one upon another has society come into existence in 
place of a mere spatial juxtaposition or temporal contemporaneousness 
or succession of individuals. If, therefore, there is to be a science, the 
object of which is to be “society” and nothing else, it can investigate 
only these reciprocal influences, these kinds and forms of socialization. 
For everything else found within “‘society” and realized by means of it 
is not “society” itself, but merely a content which builds or is built by 
this form of coexistence, and which indeed only together with “society” 
brings into existence the real structure, “society,” in the wider and 
usual sense. 

The persistence of the group presents itself in the fact that, in spite 
of the departure and the change of members, the group remains identical. 
We say that it is the same state, the same association, the same army, 
which now exists that existed so and so many decades or centuries ago; 


350 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


this, although no single member of the original organization remains. 
Here is one of the cases in which the temporal order of events presents 
a marked analogy with the spatial order. Out of individuals existing 
side by side, that is, apart from each other, a social unity is formed. 
The inevitable sepaiation which space places between men is neverthe- 
less overcome by the spiritual bond between them, so that there arises 
an appearance of unified interexistence. In like manner the temporal 
separation of individuals and of generations presents their union in our 
conceptions as a coherent, uninterrupted whole. In the case of persons 
spatially separated, this unity is effected by the reciprocity maintained 
between them across the dividing distance. The unity of complex 
being means nothing else than the cohesion of elements which is pro- 
duced by the reciprocal exercise of forces. In the case of temporally 
separated persons, however, unity cannot be effected in this manner, 
because reciprocity is lacking. The earlier may influence the later, 
{but the later cannot influence the earlier. Hence the persistence of the 
social unity in spite of shifting membership presents a peculiar problem 
which is not solved by explaining how the group came to exist at a given 
moment. 
a) Continuity by continuance of locality.—The first and most obvious 
element of the continuity of group unity is the continuance of the 
locality, of the place and soil on which the group lives. The state, 
still more the city, and also countless other associations, owe their unity 
first of all to the territory which constitutes the abiding substratum for 
all change of their contents. ‘To be sure, the continuance of the locality 
does not of itself alone mean the continuance of the social unity, since, 
for instance, if the whole population of a state is driven out or enslaved 
by a conquering group, we speak of a changed civic group in spite of the 
continuance of the territory. Moreover, the unity of whose character . 
we are speaking is psychical, and it is this psychical factor itself which 
makes the territorial substratum a unity. After this has once taken 
place, however, the locality constitutes an essential point of attachment 
for the further persistence of the group. But it is only one such element, 
for there are groups that get along without a local substratum. On the 
one hand, there are the very small groups, like the family, which con- 
tinue precisely the same after the residence is changed. On the other 
hand, there are the very large.groups, like that ideal community of the 
“republic of letters,” or the other international associations in the 
interest of culture, or the groups conducting international commerce. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 351 


Their peculiar character comes from entire independence of all attach- 
ment to a definite locality. 

b) Continuity through blood relationship—In contrast with this 
more formal condition for the maintenance of the group is the physio- 
logical connection of the generations. Community of stock is not 
always enough to insure unity of coherence for a long time. In many 
cases the local unity must be added. The social unity of the Jgys has 
been weakened to a marked degree since the dispersion, in spite of their 
physiological and confessional unity. It has become more compact 
in cases where a group of Jews have lived for a time in the same territory, 
and the efforts of the modern “Zionism” to restore Jewish unity on a 
larger scale calculate upon concentration in one locality. On the other 
hand, when other bonds of union fail, the physiological is the last recourse 
to which the self-maintenance of the group resorts. The more the 
German guilds declined, the weaker their inherent power of cohesion 
became, the more energetically did each guild attempt to make itself 
exclusive, that is, it insisted that no persons should be admitted as 
guildmasters except sons or sons-in-law of masters or the husbands of 
masters’ widows. 

The physiological coherence of successive generations is of in- 
comparable significance for the maintenance of the unitary self of 
the group, for the special reason that the displacement of one genera- 
tion by the following does not take place all at once. By virtue of this 
fact it comes about that a continuity is maintained which conducts 
the vast majority of the individuals who live in a given moment 
into the life of the next moment. The change, the disappearance 
and entrance of persons, affects in two contiguous moments a number 
relatively small compared with the number of those who remain 
constant. Another element of influence in this connection is the 
fact that human beings are not bound to a definite mating season, 
but that children are begotten at any time. It can never properly 
be asserted of a group, therefore, that at any given moment a new 
generation begins. The departure of the older and the entrance of 
the younger elements proceed so gradually and continuously that the 
group seems as much like a unified self as an peeuic body in spite of 
the change of its atoms. 

If the change were instantaneous, it is doubtful if we should be 
justified in calling the group ‘“‘the same” after the critical moment 
as before. ‘The circumstance alone that the transition affected in a 


352 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


giveti moment only a minimum of the total life of the group makes 
it possible for the group to retain its selfhood through the change. 
We may express this schematically as follows: If the totality of 
individuals or other conditions of the life of the group be represented 
by a, b, c, d, e; ina later moment by m, n, 0, p, g; we may nevertlie- 
less speak of the persistence of identical selfhood if the development 
takes the following course: a, b, c, d, e—m, b, c, d, e—m, n, ¢, d, e— 
m,n, 0, d, e—m, n, 0, p, e—m, n, 0, p, g. In this case each stage is 
differentiated from the contiguous stage by only one member, and at 
each moment it shares the same chief elements with its neighboring 
moments. 

c) Continuity through membership in the group.—This continuity 
in change of the individuals who are the vehicles of the group unity 
is most immediately and thoroughly visible when it rests upon pro- 
creation. The same form is found, however, in cases where this 
physical agency is excluded, as, for example, within the Catholic 
clerus. Here the continuity is secured by provision that enough 
persons always remain in office to initiate the neophytes. This is an 
extremely important sociological fact. It makes bureaucracies 
tenacious, and causes their character and spirit to endure in spite of 
all shifting of individuals. ‘The physiological basis of self-maintenance, 
here gives place to a psychological one. To speak exactly, the 
preservation of group identity in this case depends, of course, upon 
the amount of invariability in the vehicles of this unity, but, at all 
events, the whole body of members belonging in the group at any 
given moment only separate from the group after they have been 
associated with their successors long enough to assimilate the latter 
fully to themselves, i.e., to the spirit, the form, the tendency of the 
group. The immortality of the group depends upon the fact that 
the change is sufficiently slow and gradual. — 

The fact referred to by the phrase “immortality of the group” 
is of the greatest importance. The preservation of the identical self- 
hood of the group through a practically unlimited period gives to the 
group a significance which, ceteris paribus, is far superior to that of 
the individual. The life of the individual, with its purposes, fts 
valuations, its force, is destined to terminate within a limited time, 
and to a certain extent each individual must start at the beginning. 
Since the life of the group has no such a priori fixed time limit, and its 





SOCIAL INTERACTION 353 


forms are really arranged as though they were to last forever, the 
group accomplishes a summation of the achievements, powers, experi- 
ences, through which it makes itself far superior to the fragmentary 
individual lives. Since the early Middle Ages this has been the 
source of the power of municipal corporations in England. Each 
had from the beginning the right, as Stubbs expresses it, ‘of per- 
petuating its existence by filling up vacancies as they occur.” The 
ancient privileges were given expressly only to the burghers and their 
heirs. Asa matter of fact, they were exercised as a right to add new 
members so that, whatever fate befell the members and their physical 
descendants, the corporation, as such, was held intact. This, had 


_ to be paid for, to be sure, by the disappearance of the individual 


importance of the units behind their rédle as vehicles of the main- 
tenance of the group, for the group security must suffer, the closer 
it is bound up with the perishable individuality of the units. On 
the other hand, the more anonymous and unpersonal the unit is, the 
more fit is he to step into the place of another, and so to insure to 
the group uninterrupted self-maintenance. ‘This was the enormous 
advantage through which during the Wars of the Roses the Commons 
repulsed the previously superior power of the upper house. A battle 
that destroyed half the nobility of the country took-also from the 
House of Lords one-half its force, because this is attached to_the 
personalities. The House of Commons is in principle assured 
against such weakening. That estate at last got predominance 
which, through the equalizing of its members, demonstrated the most 
persistent power of group existence. ‘This circumstance gives every 
group an advantage in competition with an individual. 

d) Continuity through leadership.—On this account special 
arrangements are necessary so soon, as the life of the group is inti- 
mately bound up with that of a leading, commanding individual. 
What dangers to the integrity of the group are concéaledin this 
sociological form may be learned from the history of all interreg- 
nums—dangers which, of course, increase in the same ratio in which 
the ruler actually forms the central point of the functions through 
which the group preserves its unity, or, more correctly, at each moment 
creates its unity ai anew. Consequently a break between rulers may be 
a oe of indifference where the prince only exercises a nominal 
sway—‘‘reigns, but does not govern’’—while, on the other hand, we 


354 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


observe even in the swarm of bees that anarchy results so soon as the 
queen is removed. Although it is entirely false to explain this 
latter phenomenon by analogy of a human ruler, since the queen 
bee gives no orders, vet the queen occupies the middle point of the 
activity of the hive. By means of her antennae she is in constant 
communication with the workers, and so all the signals coursing 
through the hive pass through her. By virtue of this very fact the 
hive feels itself a unity, and this unity dissolves with the disappearance 
of the functional center. 

e) Continuity through the hereditary principle.—In political groups 
the attempt is made to guard against all the dangers of personality, 
particularly those of possible intervals between the important persons, 
by the principle: ‘The king never dies.” While in the early Middle 
Ages the tradition prevailed that when the king dies his peace dies with 
him, this newer principle contains provision for the self-preservation 
of the group. It involves an extraordinarily significant sociologi- 
cal conception, viz., the king is no longer king as a person, but the 
reverse is the case, that is, his person is only the in itself irrelevant 
vehicle of the abstract kingship, which is as unalterable as the group 
itself, of which the kingship is the apex. The group reflects its im- 
mortality upon the kingship, and the sovereign in return brings that 
immortality to visible expression in his own person, and by so doing 
reciprocally strengthens the vitality of the group. That mighty 
factor of social coherence which consists of loyalty of sentiment 
toward the reigning power might appear in very small groups in the 
relation of fidelity toward the person of the ruler. For large groups 
the definition that Stubbs once gave must certainly apply, viz.: 
“Loyalty is a habit of strong and faithful attachment to a person, 
not so much by reason of his personal character as of his official posi- 
tion.” By becoming objectified in the deathless office, the princely 
principle gains a new psychological power for concentration and 
cohesion within the group, while the old princely principle that 
rested on the mere personality of the prince necessarily lost power . 
as the size of the group increased. 

f) Continuity through a material symbol.—The objectification of 
the coherence of the group may also do away with the personal form 
to such an extent that it attaches itself to a material symbol. Thus 
in the German lands in the Middle Ages the imperial jewels were 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 355 


looked upon as the visible realization of the idea of the realm and of 
its continuity, so that the possession of them gave to a pretender a 
decided advantage over all other aspirants, and this was one of the 
influences which evidently assisted the heir of the body of the de- 
ceased emperor in securing the succession. 

In view of the destructibility of a material object, since too this 
disadvantage cannot be offset, as in the case of a person, by the 
continuity of heredity, it is very dangerous for the group to seek 
such a support for its self-preservation. Many a regiment has lost 
its coherence with the loss of its standard. Many kinds of associa- 
tions have dissolved after their palladium, their storehouse, their 
grail, was destroyed. When, however, the social coherence is lost in 
this way, it is safe to say that it must have suffered serious internal 
disorder before, and that in this case the loss of the external symbol 
representing the unity of the group is itself only the symbol that 
the social elements have lost their coherence. When this last is not 
the case, the loss of the group symbol not only has no disintegrating 
effect but it exerts a direct integrating influence. While the symbol 
loses its corporeal reality, it may, as mere thought, longing, ideal, 
work much more powerfully, profoundly, indestructibly. We may 
get a good view of these two opposite influences of the forms of 
destruction of the group symbol upon the solidity of the group by 
reference to the consequences of the destruction of the Jewish temple 
by Titus. The hierarchal Jewish state was a thorn in the flesh of 
the Roman statecraft that aimed at the unity of the empire. The 
purpose of dissolving this state was accomplished, so far as a certain 
number of the Jews were concerned, by the destruction of the temple. 
Such was the effect with those who cared little, anyway, about this 
centralization. Thus the alienation of the Pauline Christians from 
Judaism was powerfully promoted by this event. For the Palestinian 
Jews, on the other hand, the breach between Judaism and the rest of 
the world was deepened. By this destruction of its symbol their 
national religious exclusiveness was heightened to desperation. 

g) Continuity through group honor.—The sociological significance 
of honor as a form of cohesion is extraordinarily great. Through 
the appeal to honor, society secures from its members the kind of 
conduct conducive to its own preservation, particularly within the 
spheres of conduct intermediate between the purview of the criminal 


356 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


code, on the one hand, and the field of purely personal morality, on 
the other. By the demands upon its members contained in the group 
standard of honor the group preserves its unified character and its 
distinctness from the other groups within the same inclusive associa- 
tion. The essential thing is the specific idea of honor in narrow 
groups—family honor, officers’ honor, mercantile honor, yes, even 
the ‘‘honor among thieves.” Since the individual belongs to various 
groups, the individual may, at the same time, be under the demands 
of several sorts of honor which are independent of each other. One 
may preserve his mercantile honor, or his scientific honor as an 
investigator, who has forfeited his family honor, and vice versa; 
the robber may strictly observe the requirements of thieves’ honor 
after he has violated every other; a woman may have lost her 
womanly honor and in every other respect be most honorable, etc. 
Thus honor consists in the relation of the individual to a particular 
circle, which in this respect manifests its separateness, its sociological 
distinctness, from other groups. 

h) Continuity through specialized organs.—From such recourse of 
social self-preservation to individual persorts, to a material substance, 
to an ideal conception, we pass now to the cases in-which social 
persistence takes advantage of an organ composed of a number of 
persons. ‘Thus a religious community embodies its coherence and its 
life principle in its priesthood; a political community its inner prin- 
ciple of union in its administrative organization, its union against 
foreign power in its military system; this latter in its corps of officers; 
every permanent union in its official head; transitory associations 
in their committees; political parties in diets parliamentary repre- 
sentatives. 


hy B. THE NATURAL FORMS OF COMMUNICATION Lv 


1. Sociology of the Senses: Visual Interaction! 


It is through the medium of the senses that we perceive our — 
fellow-men. This fact has two aspects of fundamental sociological 
significance: (a) that of appreciation, and (b) that of comprehension. 

a) Appreciation.—Sense-impressions may induce in us affective 
responses of pleasure or pain, of excitement or calm, of tension or 


t Translated and adapted from Georg Simmel, Soziologie, pp. C4" 5sy (Leip- 
zig: Duncker und Humblot, 1908.) 


SOCIAL INTERACTION aO% 


relaxation, produced by the features of a person, or by the tone of 
his voice, or by his mere physical presence in the same room. These 
affettive responses, however, do not enable us to understand or to 
define the other person. Our emotional response to the sense-image 
of the other leaves his real self outside. 

b) Comprehension.—The sense-impression of the other person 
may develop in the opposite direction when it-becomes the medium 
for understanding the other. (What I see, hear, feel of him is only 
the bridge over which I reach his real self.) The sound of the voice 
and its meaning, perhaps, present the Clearest illustration. (The 
speech, quite as much as the appearance, of a person, may be im- 
mediately either attractive or repulsive.¥ On the other hand, what 
he says enables us to understand not only his momentary. thoughts 
but also his inner self. \The same principle applies to all sense- 
impressions. : 

The sense-impressions of any object produce in us not only | 
emotional and aesthetic attitudes toward it but also an understand- 
ing of it / In the case of reaction to non-human objects, these two 
responses are, in general, widely separated. We may appreciate 
the emotional vale of any sense-impression of an object. The 
fragrance of a rose, the charm of a tone, the grace of a bough swaying 
in the wind, is experienced as a joy éngendered within the soul. On 
the other hand, we may desire to understand and to comprehend 
the rose, or the tone, or the bough. In the latter case we respond 
in an entirely different way, often with conscipus endeavor. These 
two diverse reactions which are independent of each other are with 
human beings generally integrated into a unified response. Theo- 
retically, our sense-impressions of a person may be directed on the 
one hand to an appreciation of his emotional value, or on the other 
to an impulsive or deliberate understanding of him. Actually, these 
two reactions are coexistent and inextricably interwoven as the basis 
of our relation to him. Of course, appreciation and comprehension 
develop in quite different degrees. \These two diverse responses— 

- to the tone of voice and to the meaning of the utterance; to the 
_ appearance of a person and to_his individuality; to the attraction 
or repulsion of his personality and to the impulsive judgment upon 
his character as well as many times upon his grade of culture—are 
present in any perception in very different degrees and combinations. 


358 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Of the special sense-organs, the eye has a uniquely sociological 
function. The union and interaction of individuals is based upon 
mutual glances. This is perhaps the most direct and purest recip- 
rocity which exists anywhere. ‘This highest psychic reaction, how- 
ever, in which the glances of eye to eye unite men, crystallizes into 
no objective structure; the unity which momentarily arises between 
two persons is present in the occasion and is dissolved in the function. 
So tenacious and subtle is this union that it can only be maintained 
by the shortest and straightest line between the eyes, and the smallest 
deviation from it, the slightest glance aside, completely destroys the 
unique character of this union. No objective trace of this relation- 
ship is left behind, as is universally found, directly or indirectly, in 
all other types of associations between men, as, for example, in 
interchange of words. The interaction of eye and eye dies in the 
moment in which the directness of the function is lost.. But the 
totality of social relations of human beings, their self-assertion and 
self-abnegation, their intimacies and estrangements, would be 
changed in unpredictable ways if there occurred no glance of eye to 
‘eye. This mutual glance between persons, in distinction from the 
simple sight or observation of the other, signifies a wholly new and 
unique union between them. 

The limits of this relation are to be determined by the jeune 
fact that the glance by which the one seeks to perceive the other is 
itself expressive. By the glance which reveals the other, one dis- 
closes fiat) By the same act in which the observer seeks to know 
the observed, he surrenders himself to be understood by the observer. 
The eye cannot take unless at the same time it gives. Ge eye of 
.a person discloses his own soul when he seeks to uncover that of 
another) What occurs in this direct mutual glance represents the 
most perfect reciprocity in the entire field of human relationships. 

Shame causes a person to look at the ground to avoid the glance 
of the other. The reason for this is certainly not only because he is 
thus spared the visible eVidence of the way in which the other regards 
his painful situation, but the deeper reason is that the lowering of 
his glance to a certain degree prevents the other from comprehending 
the extent of his confusion. ‘The glance in the eye of the other serves 
not only for me to know the other but also enables him to know me. 
Upon the line which unites the two eyes, it conveys to the other the 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 359 


real personality, the real attitude, and the real impulse. The 
“ostrich policy” has in this explanation a real justification: who does 
not see the other actually conceals himself in part from the observer. 
A person is not at all completely present to another, when the latter 
sees him, but only when he also sees the other. 

The sociological significance of the eye has special reference to 
the expression of the face as the first object of vision between man 
and man. It is seldom clearly understood to what an extent even 
our practical relations depend upon mutual recognition, not only in 
the sense of all external characteristics, as the momentary appearance 
and attitude of the other, but what we know or intuitively perceive 
of his life, of his inner nature, of the immutability of his being, all of 
which colors unavoidably both our transient and our permanent 
relations with him. The face is the geometric chart of all these 
experiences. It is the symbol of all that which the individual has 
brought with him as the pre-condition of his life. In the face is 
deposited what has been precipitated from past experience as the 
substratum of his life, which has become crystallized into the perma- 
nent features of his face. To the extent to which we thus perceive 
the face of a person, there enters into social relations, in so far as it 
serves practical purposes, a super-practical element. It follows that 
a man is first known by his countenance, not by his acts. The face 
as a medium of expression is entirely a theoretical organ; it does not 
act, as the hand, the foot, the whole body; it transacts none of the 
internal or practical relations of the man, it only tells about him. 
The peculiar and important sociological art of “knowing” transmitted 
by the eye is determined by the fact that the countenance is the 
essential object of the inter-individual sight. This knowing is still 
somewhat different from understanding. To a certain extent, and 
in a highly variable degree, we know at first glance with whom we 
have to-do. Our unconsciousness of this knowledge and its funda- 
mental significance lies in the fact that we direct our attention from 
this self-evident intuition to an understanding of special features 
which determine our practical relations to a particular individual. 
But if we become conscious of this self-evident fact, then we are 
amazed how much we know about a person in the first glance at 
him. We do not obtain meaning from his expression, susceptible 
to analysis into individual traits. We cannot unqualifiedly say 


360 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


whether he is clever or stupid, good- or ill-natured, temperamental 
or phlegmatic. All these traits are general characteristics which he 
shares with unnumbered others. But what this first glance at him 
transmits to us cannot be analyzed or appraised into any such con- 
ceptual and expressive elements. Yet our initial impression remains 
ever the keynote of all later knowledge of him; it is the direct per- 
ception of his individuality which his appearance, and especially his 
face, discloses to our glance., 

The sociological attitude of the blind is entirely different from 
that of the deaf-mute. For the blind, the other person is actually 
present only in the alternating periods of his utterance. The 
expression of the anxiety and unrest, the traces of all past events, 
exposed to view in the faces of men, escape the blind, and that may 
be the reason for the peaceful and calm disposition, and the 
unconcern toward their surroundings, which is so often observed in the 
blind. Indeed, the majority of the stimuli which the face presents 
are often puzzling; in general, what we see of a man will be inter- 
preted by what we hear from him, while the opposite is more unusual. 
Therefore the one who sees, without hearing, is much more perplexed, 
puzzled, and worried, than the one who hears without seeing. This 
' principle is of great importance in understanding the sociology of 
. the modern city. 

Social life in the large city as compared with the towns shows a 
| great preponderance of occasions to see rather than to hear people. 
One explanation lies in the fact that the person in the town is 
acquainted with nearly all the people he meets. With these he 
exchanges a word or a glance, and their countenance represents to 
him not merely the visible but indeed the entire personality. Another 
reason of especial significance is the development of public means 
of transportation. Before the appearance of omnibuses, railroads, 
and street cars in the nineteenth century, men were not in a situation 
where for periods of minutes or hours they could or must look at each 
other without talking to one another. Modern social life increases 
in ever growing degree the réle of mere visual impression which always 
characterizes the preponderant part of all sense relationship between 
man and man, and must place social attitudes and feelings upon an 
entirely changed basis. The greater perplexity which characterizes 
the person who only sees, as contrasted with the one who only hears, 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 361 


brings us to the problems of the emotions of modern life: the lack of 
orientation in the collective life, the sense of utter lonesomeness, and 
the feeling that the individual is surrounded on all sides by closed 
doors. 


2. The Expression of the Emotions' 


Actions of all kinds, if regularly accompanying any state of the 
mind, are at once recognized as expressive. ‘These may consist of 
movements of any part of the body, as the wagging of a dog’s tail, 
the shrugging of a man’s shoulders, the erection of the hair, the 
exudation of perspiration, the state of the capillary circulation, 
labored breathing, and the use of the vocal or other sound-producing 
instruments. Even insects express anger, terror, jealousy, and love 
by their stridulation. With man the respiratory organs are of especial 
importance in expression, not only in a direct, but to a still higher 
degree in an indirect, manner. 

Few points are more interesting in our present subjec* ™ 
extraordinarily complex chain of events which lead + 
pressive movements. Take, for instance, the oblv 
a man suffering from grief or anxiety. When inf 
from hunger or pain, the circulation is affecte? 
become gorged with blood; consequently 
the eyes are strongly contracted as a ” 
the course of many generations, has ber 
but when, with advancing years ar’ 
is partially repressed, the muscle’ 
tract, whenever even slight dis’ 
pyramidals of the nose are less 
the others, and their contract 
central fasciae of the frontal] 
inner ends of the eyebrow 
manner, which we instar 
anxiety. Slight mover’ 
scarcely perceptible dr¢ 
the last remnants or ; 
movements. They 2 


4) 


t Adapted from Che 
(John Murray, 1873.) 


362 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


expression as are ordinary rudiments to the naturalist in the classifi- 
cation and genealogy of organic beings. 

That the chief expressive actions exhibited by man and by the 
lower animals are now innate or inherited—that is, have not been 
learned by the individua!—is admitted by everyone. So little has 
learning or imitation to do with several of them that they are from 
the earliest days and throughout life quite beyond our control; for 
instance, the relaxation of the arteries of the skin in blushing, and the 
increased action of the heart in anger. We may see children only 
two or three years old, and even those born blind, blushing from 
shame; and the naked scalp of a very young infant reddens from 
passion. Infants scream from pain directly after birth, and all their 
features then assume the same form as during subsequent years. 
These facts alone suffice to show that many of our most important 
expressions have not been learned; but it is remarkable that some, » 
which are certainly innate, require practice in the individual before 
they are performed in a full and perfect manner; for instance, weep- 

~ and laughing. The inheritance of most of our expressive actions 

‘as the fact that those born blind display them, as I hear from 

R. H. Blair, equally well with those gifted with eyesight. 

e also understand the fact that the young and the old of 

“at races, both with man and animals, express the same 
the same movement. 

“ar with the fact of young and old animals dis- 

> the same manner that we hardly perceive 

a young puppy should wag its tail when 

ncover its canine teeth when pretending 

log; or that a kitten should arch its 

n frightened and angry, like an old 

‘ess common gestures in ourselves, 

‘t as artificial or conventional— 

‘en of impotence, or the raising 

fingers as a sign of wonder— 

‘nding that they are innate. 

“‘nhevited we may infer from 

dren, by those born blind, 

an. We should also bear 

‘ks, in association with 


S@CIAL INTERACTION 363 


certain states of the mind, are known to have arisen in certain indi- 
viduals and to have been afterward transmitted to their offspring, in 
some cases for more than one generation. 

Certain other gestures, which seem to us so natural that we 
might easily imagine that they were innate, apparently have been 
learned like the words of a language. This seems to be the case with 
the joining of the uplifted hands and the turning up of the eyes in 
prayer. So it is with kissing as a mark of affection; but this is innate, 
in so far as it depends on the pleasure derived from contact with a 
beloved person. The evidence with respect to the inheritance of 
nodding and shaking the head as signs of affirmation and negation 
is doubtful, for they are not universal, yet seem too general to have 
been independently acquired by all the individuals of so many races. 

We will now consider how far the will_and consciousness have 
come into play in the development of the various movements of 
expression. As far as we can judge, only a few expressive movements, 
such as those just referred to, are learned by each individual; that is, 
were consciously and voluntarily performed during the early years 
of life for some definite object, or in imitation of others, and then, 
became habitual. The far greater number of the movements of 
expression, and all the more important ones, are, as we have seen, 
innate or inherited; and such cannot be said to depend on the will 
of the individual. Nevertheless, all those included under our first 
principle were at first voluntarily performed for a definite object, 
namely, to escape some danger, to relieve some distress, or to gratify 
some desire. For instance, there can hardly be a doubt that the 
animals which fight with their teeth have acquired the habit of 
drawing back their ears closely to their heads when feeling savage 
from their progenitors having voluntarily acted in this manner in 
order to protect their ears from being torn by their antagonists; for 
those animals which do not fight with their teeth do not thus express 
a savage state of mind. We may infer as highly probable that we 
ourselves have acquired the habit of contracting the muscles round the 
eyes whilst crying gently, that is, without the utterance of any loud 
sound, from our progenitors, especially during infancy, having 
experienced during the act of screaming an uncomfortable sensation 
in their eyeballs. Again, some highly expressive movements result 
from the endeavor to check or prevent other expressive movements; 


364 INTRODUCTION’ TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


thus the obliquity of the eyebrows and the drawing down of the cor- 
ners of the mouth follow from the endeavor to prevent a screaming- 
fit from coming on or to check it after it has come on. Here it 
is obvious that the consciousness and will must at first haye come 
into play; not that we are conscious in these or in other such cases 
what muscles are brought into action, any more than when we per- 
form the most ordinary voluntary movements. 

The power of communication between the members of the same 
tribe by means of language has been of paramount importance in 
the development of man; and the force of language is much aided 
by the expressive movements of the face and body. We perceive 
this at once when we converse on an important subject with any 
person whose face is concealed. Nevertheless there are no grounds, 
as far as I can discover, for believing that any muscle has been 
developed or even modified exclusively for the sake of expression. 
The vocal and other sound-producing organs by which various 
expressive noises are produced seem to form a partial exception; but 
I have elsewhere attempted to show that these ofgans were first 
developed for sexual purposes, in order that one sex might call or 
charm the other. Nor can I discover grounds for believing that any 
inherited movement which now serves as a means of expression was at 
first voluntarily and consciously performed for this special purpose— 
like some of the gestures and the finger-language used by the deaf 
and dumb. On the contrary, every true or inherited movement of 
expression seems to have had some natural and independent origin. 
But when once acquired, such movements may be voluntarily and 
consciously employed as a means of communication. Even infants, 
if carefully attended to, find out at a very early age that their scream- 
ing brings relief, and they soon voluntarily practice it. We may 
frequently see a person voluntarily raising his eyebrows to express 
surprise, or smiling to express pretended satisfaction and acquiescence. 
A man often wishes to make certain gestures conspicuous or demon- 
strative, and will raise his extended arms with widely opened fingers 
above his head to show astonishment or lift his shoulders to his 
ears to show that he cannot or will not do something. 

We have seen that the study of the theory of expression confirms 
to a certain limited extent the conclusion that man is derived from 
some lower animal form, and supports the belief of the specific or 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 365 


subspecific unity of the several races; but as far as my judgment 
serves, such confirmation was hardly needed. We have also seen that 
expression in itself, or the language of the emotions, as it has some- 
times been called, is certainly of importance for the welfare of man- 
kind. ‘To understand, as far as is possible, the source or origin of 
the various expressions which may be hourly seen on the faces of 
the men around us, not to mention our domesticated animals, ought 
to possess much interest for us. From these several causes we may 
conclude that the philosophy of our subject has well deserved that 
attention which it has already received from several excellent 
observers, and that it deserves still further attention, especially from 
any able physidlogist. 


3- Blushing" ; 


Blushing is the most peculiar and the most human of all 
expressions. Monkeys redden from passion, but it would require an 
overwhelming amount of evidence to make us believe that any 
animal could blush. The reddening of the face from a blush is due 
to the relaxation of the muscular coats of the small arteries, by which 
the capillaries become filled with blood; and this depends on the 
proper vasomotor center being affected. No doubt if there be at 
the same time much mental agitation, the general circulation will 
be affected; but it is not due to the action of the heart that the 
network of minute vessels covering the face becomes under a sense 
of shame gorged with blood. We can cause laughing by tickling the 
skin, weeping or frowning by a blow, trembling from the fear of pain, 
and so forth; but we cannot cause a blush by any physical means— 
that is, by any action on the body. It is the mind which must be 
affected. Blushing is not only involuntary, but the wish to restrain 
it, by leading to self-attention, actually increases the tendency. 

The young blush much more freely than the old, but not during 
infancy, which is remarkable, as we know that infants at a very 
early age redden from passion. I have received authentic accounts 
of two little girls blushing at the ages of between two and three 
years; and of another sensitive child, a year older, blushing when 
reproved for a fault. Many children at a somewhat more advanced 


t Adapted from Charles Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions, pp. 310-37. 
(John Murray, 1873.) 


366 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


age blush in a strongly marked manner. It appears that the mental 
powers of infants are not as yet sufficiently developed to allow of their 
blushing. Hence, also, it is that idiots rarely blush. Dr. Crichton 
Browne observed for me those under his care, but never saw a genuine 
blush, though he has seen their faces flush, apparently from joy, 
when food was placed before them, and from anger. Nevertheless 
some, if not utterly degraded, are capable of blushing. A micro- 
cephalous idiot, for instance, thirteen years old, whose eyes brightened 
a little when he was pleased or amused, has been described by 
Dr. Behn as blushing and turning to one side when undressed for 
medical examination. 

Women blush much more than men. It is rare to see an old man, 
but not nearly so rare to see an old woman, blushing. The blind do 
not escape. Laura Bridgman, born in this condition, as well as 
completely deaf, blushes. The Rev. R. H. Blair, principal of the 
Worcester College, informs me that three children born blind, out 
of seven or eight then in the asylum, are great blushers. The blind 
are not at first conscious that they are observed, and it is a most 
important part of their education, as Mr. Blair informs me, to impress 
this knowledge on their minds; and the impression thus gained 
would greatly strengthen the conten) to blush, by yee ce the 
habit of self-attention. . 

The tendency to blush is inherited. Dr. Burgess gives the case 
of a family consisting of a father, mother, and ten children, all of 
whom, without exception, were prone to blush to a most painful 
degree. The children were grown up; “and some of them were 
sent to travel in order to wear away this diseased sensibility, but 
nothing was of the slightest avail.” Even peculiarities in blushing 
seem to be inherited. Sir James Paget, whilst examining the spine 
of a girl, was struck at her singular manner of blushing; a big splash 
of red appeared first on one cheek, and then other splashes, variously 
scattered over the face and neck. He subsequently asked the 
mother whether her daughter always blushed in this peculiar manner 
and was answered, “Yes, she takes after me.” Sir J. Paget then 
perceived that by asking this question he had caused the mother to 
blush and she exhibited the same peculiarity as her daughter. 

In most cases the face, ears, and neck are the sole parts which 
redden; but many persons, whilst blushing intensely, feel that 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 367 


their whole bodies grow hot and tingle; and this shows that the entire 
surface must be in some manner affected. Blushes are said some- 
times to commence on the forehead, but more commonly on the 
cheeks, afterward spreading to the ears and neck. In two albinos 
examined by Dr. Burgess, the blushes commenced by a small circum- 
scribed spot on the cheeks, over the parotidean plexus of nerves, and 
then increased into a circle; between this blushing circle and the 
blush on the neck there was an evident line of demarcation, although 
both arose simultaneously. The retina, which is naturally red in 
the albino, invariably increased at the same time in redness. Every 
one must have noticed how easily after one blush fresh blushes chase 
each other over the face. Blushing is preceded by a peculiar sensa- 
tion in the skin. According to Dr. Burgess the reddening of the skin 
is generally succeeded by a slight pallor, which shows that the capillary 
vessels contract after dilating. In some rare cases paleness instead 
of redness is caused under conditions which would naturally induce 
a blush. For instance, a young lady told me that in a large and 
crowded party she caught her hair so firmly on the button of a passing 
servant that it took some time before she could be extricated; from 
her sensation she imagined that she had blushed crimson but was 
assured by a friend that she had turned extremely pale. 

The mental states which induce blushing consist of (shyness, 
shame, and modesty, the essential element in all being self-attention) 
Many reasons can be assigned for believing that originally self- 
attention directed to personal appearance, in relation to the opinion 
of others, was the exciting cause, the same effect being subsequently 
produced, through the force of association, by self-attention in 
relation to moral conduct. It is not the simple act of reflecting on 
our own appearance, but the thinking what others think of us, which 
excites a blush. In absolute solitude the most sensitive person 
would be quite indifferent about his appearance. We feel blame 
or disapprobation more acutely than approbation; and consequently 
depreciatory remarks or ridicule, whether of our appearance or 
conduct, cause us to blush much more readily than does praise. 
But undoubtedly praise and admiration are highly efficient: a 
pretty girl blushes when a man gazes intently at her, though 
she may know perfectly well that he is not depreciating her. \, Many 
children, as well as old and sensitive persons, blush when they 


FINS 


-—\/ 


Vp 


368 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


are much praised. Hereafter the question will be discussed how 
it has arisen that the consciousness that others are attending 
to our personal appearance should have led to the capillaries, espe- 
cially those of the face, instantly becoming filled with blood. 

My reasons for believing that attention directed to personal 
appearance, and not to moral conduct, has been the fundamental 
element in the acquirement of the habit of blushing will now be given. 
They are separately light, but combined possess, as it appears to me, 
considerable weight. (it is notorious that nothing makes a shy 
person blush so much as any remark, however slight, on his personal 
appearance. One cannot notice even the dress of a woman much 
given to blushing without causing her face to crimson. It is suf- 
ficient to stare hard at some persons to make them, as Coleridge 
remarks, blush—‘‘account for that he who can.” 

With the two albinos observed by Dr. Burgess, ‘‘the slightest 
attempt to examine their peculiarities” invariably caused them to 
blush deeply. Women are much more sensitive about their personal 
appearance than men are, especially elderly women in comparison 
with elderly men, and they blush much more freely. The young 
of both sexes are much more sensitive on this same head than the old, 
and they also blush much more freely than the old. Children at a 
very early age do not blush; nor do they show those other signs of 
self-consciousness which generally accompany blushing; and it is one 
of their chief charms that they think nothing about what others 
think of them. At this early age they will stare at a stranger with 
a fixed gaze and unblinking eyes, as on an inanimate object, in a 
manner which we elders cannot imitate. 

It is plain to everyone that young men and women are highly 
sensitive to the opinion of each other with reference to their personal 
appearance; and they blush incomparably more in the presence of 
the opposite sex than in that of their own. A young man, not very 
liable to blush, will blush intensely at any slight ridicule of his appear- 
ance from a girl whose judgment on any important subject he would 
disregard. No happy pair of young lovers, valuing each other’s 
admiration and love more than anything else in the world, probably 
ever courted each other without many a blush. Even the barbarians 
of Tierra del Fuego, according to Mr. Bridges, blush “chiefly in regard 
to women, but certainly also at their own personal appearance.” 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 369 


Of all parts of the body, the face is most considered and regarded, 
as is natural from its being the chief seat of expression and the source 
of the voice. It is also the chief seat of beauty and of ugliness, and 
throughout the world is the most ornamented. ‘The face, therefore, 
will have been subjected during many generations to much closer and 
more earnest self-attention than any other part of the body; and in 
accordance with the principle here advanced we can understand why 
it should be the most liable to blush. Although exposure to alter- 
nations of temperature, etc., has probably much increased the power 
of dilatation and contraction in the capillaries of the face and adjoin- 
ing parts, yet this by itself will hardly account for these parts blushing 
much more than the rest of the body; for it does not explain the fact 
of the hands rarely blushing. With Europeans the whole body 
tingles slightly when the face blushes intensely; and with the races 
of men who habitually go nearly naked, the blushes extend over a 
—much larger surface than with us. These facts are, to a certain 
extent, intelligible, as the self-attention of primeval man, as well 
as of the existing races which still go naked, will not have been so 
exclusively confined to their faces, as is the case with the people who 
now go clothed. 

We have seen that in all parts of the world persons who feel 
shame for some moral HemaGucniey are apt to avert, bend down, or 
hide their faces, independently of any thought about their personal 
appearance. ‘The object can hardly be to conceal their blushes, for 
the face is thus averted or hidden under circumstances which exclude 
any desire to conceal shame, as when guilt is fully confessed and 
repented of. It is, however, probable that primeval man before he 
had acquired much moral sensitiveness would have been highly 
sensitive about his personal appearance, at least in reference to the 
other sex, and he would consequently have felt distress at any 
depreciatory remarks about his appearance; and this is one form of 
shame. And as the face is the part of the body which is most 
regarded, it is intelligible that any one ashamed of his personal appear- 
ance would desire to conceal this part of his body. The habit, 
having been thus acquired, would naturally be carried on when shame 
from strictly moral causes was felt; and it is not easy otherwise to 
see why under these circumstances there should be a desire to hide 
the face’more than any other part of the body. 


370 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The habit, so general with everyone who feels ashamed, of turning 
away or lowering his eyes, or restlessly moving them from side to side, 
probably follows from gach glance directed toward those present, 
bringing home the conviction that he is intently regarded; and he 
endeavors, by not lookihg at those present, and especially not at 
their eyes, momentarily to escape from this painful conviction. 


4. Laughing" 


Sympathy, when it is not the direct cause, is conditional to the 
existence of laughter. Sometimes it provokes it; always it spreads 
it, sustains and strengthens it. 

First of all, it is so much the nature of laughter to communicate 
itself that when it no longer communicates itself it ceases to exist. 
One might say that outbursts of merriment need to be encouraged, 
that they are not self-sufficient. Not to share them is to blow upon 
them and extinguish them. When, in an animated and mirthful 
group, some one remains cold or gloomy, the laughter immediately 
stops or is checked. Yet those whom the common people call, in 
their picturesque language, wet blankets, spoil-sports, or kill-joys, 
are not necessarily hostile to the gaiety of the rest. They may only 
have, and, in fact, very often do have, nothing but the one fault of 
being out of tune with this gaiety. But even their calm appears an 
offense to the warmth and the high spirits of the others and kills by 
itself alone this merriment. 

Not only is laughter maintained by sympathy but it is even 
born of sympathy. The world is composed of two kinds of people: 
those who make one laugh and those who are made to laugh, these 
latter being infinitely more numerous. How many there are, indeed, 
who have no sense of humor, and who, of themselves, would not 
think of laughing at things at which they do nevertheless laugh 
heartily because they see others laugh. As for those who havea ready 
wit and a sense of the comic, do they not enjoy the success of their 
jokes as much, if not more, than their jokes themselves? Their 
mirthfulness, then, at least, grows with the joy of spreading it. Very 
often it happens that many good humorists are temperamentally far 
from gay, and laugh at their jokes only on the rebound, echoing 


‘Translated and adapted from L. Dugas, Psychologie du rire, pp. 32-153. 
(Félix Alcan, 1902.) 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 371 


the laughter which they provoke. To laugh, then, is to share 
the gaiety of others, whether this gaiety is communicated from 
them to us or from us to them. It seems that we can be moved 
to laughter only by the merriment of others, that we possess ours 
only indirectly when others sénd it to us. Human solidarity never 
appears more clearly than in the case of laughter. 

Yet can one say that sympathy actually produces laughter? Is 
it not enough to say that it increases it, that it strengthens its effects ? 
All our sentiments are without doubt in a sense revealed to us by 
others. How many, as Rochefoucald says, would be ignorant of love 
if they had never read novels! How many in the same way would 
never have discovered by themselves the laughable side of people 
and things. Yet even the feelings which one experiences by contagion 
one can experience only of one’s own accord, in one’s own way, and 
according to one’s disposition. This fact alone of their contagion 
proves that from one’s birth one carries the germ in himself. Sym- 
pathy would explain, then, contagion, but not the birth, of laughter. 
The fact is that our feelings exist for ourselves only when they 
acquire a communicative or social value; they have to be diffused in 
order to manifest themselves. Sympathy does not create them but 
it gives them their place in the world? gives them just that access of 
intensity without which their nature cannot develop or even appear: 
thus it is that our laughter would be for us as if it did not exist, if it 
did not find outside itself an echo which increases it. 

From the fact that sympathy is the law of laughter, does it 
follow that it is the cause? Not at all. It would be even con- 
tradictory to maintain this. A laugh being given, others are born | 
out of sympathy. But the first laugh or one originally given, where 
does it get its origin? Communicated laughter implies spontaneous 
laughter as the echo implies a sound. If sympathy explains one, it 
is, it would seem, an antipathy or the absence of sympathy which 
produces the other. ‘The thing at which we laugh,” says Aristotle, 
“is a defect or ugliness which is not great enough to cause suffering 
or injury. Thus, for example, a ridiculous face is an ugly or mis- 
shapen face, but one on which suffering has not marked.” Bain 
says likewise, “‘The latighable is the deformed or ugly thing which is 
not pushed to the point where it is painful or injurious. An occasion 
for laughter is the degradation of a person of dignity in circumstances 


372 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


which do not arouse a strong emotion,” like indignation, anger, or 
pity. Descartes puts still more limits upon laughter. Speaking of 
malice he says that laughter cannot be provoked except by misfortunes 
not only /ight but also unforseen and deserved: “ Derision or mockery,” 
he says, “is a kind of joy mixed with¢hate, which comes from’ one’s 
perceiving some /iitle misfortune in a person who one thinks deserves 
it. We hate this misfortune but are happy at seeing it in some one 
who merits it, and, when this happens unexpectedly, surprise causes 
us to burst out laughing. But this misfortune must be small, for if 
it is great we cannot believe that he who meets it deserves it, unless 
one has a very malicious or hateful nature.” 

This fact can be established directly by analyzing the most cruel 
laughter. If we enter into the feelings of the one who laughs and 
set aside the disagreeable sentiments, irritation, anger, and disgust, 
which at times they produce upon us, we come to understand even 
the savage sneer which appears to us as an insult to suffering; the 
laugh of the savage, trampling his conquered enemy under foot, or 
that of the child torturing unfortunate animals. This laugh is, in 
fact, inoffensive in its way, it is cruel in fact but not in intention. 
What it expresses is not a perverse, satanic joy but a hearilessness, 
as is so properly said. In eo and the savage sympathy has 
not been born, that is to say, the absence of imagination for the 
sufferings of others is complete. As a result we have a negative 
cruelty, a sort of altruistic or social anaesthesia. | 

When such an anaesthesia is not complete, when the altruistic 
sensibility of one who laughs is only dull, his egotism being very 
keen, his laughter might appear still less hatefully cruel. It would 
express then not properly the joy of seeing others suffer but that 
of not having to undergo their suffering and the power of seeing it 

nly as a spectacle. ) 

Analogous facts may be cited closer to us, easier to verify. Those 
who enjoy robust health often laugh at invalids: their imagination 
does not comprehend physical suffering, they are incapable of 
sympathizing with those who experience it. Likewise those who 
possess calm and even dispositions cannot witness without laughing 
an excess of mad anger or of impotent rage. /In general we do not 
take seriously those feelings to which we ourselves are strangers; 
we consider them extravagant and amusing. ‘How can one be a 


SOCIAL INTERACTION eb Fh 


Persian?’’ To laugh is to detach one’s self from others, to separate 
one’s self and to take pleasure in this separation, to amuse one’s self 
by contrasting the feelings, character, and temperament of others and 
one’s own feelings, character, and temperament. Imnsensibility has 
been justly noted by M. Bergson as an essential characteristic of 
him who laughs. But this zmsensibility, this heartlessness, gives very 
much the effect of a positive and real ill nature, and M. Bergson had 
thus simply repeated and expressed in a new way, more precise and 
correct, the opinion of Aristotle: the cause of laughter is malice 
mitigated by insensibility or the absence of sympathy. 

Thus defined, malice is after all essentially relative, and when 
one says that the object of our laughter is the misfortune of someone 
else, known by us to be endurable and slight, it must be understood 
that this misfortune may be im itself very serious as well as unde- 
served, and in this way laughter is often really cruel. 

The coarser men are, the more destitute they are of sympathetic 
imagination, and the more they laugh at one ancther with an offensive 
and brutal laugh. There are those who are not even touched by 
contact with physical suffering; such ones have the heart to laugh 
at the shufflings of a bandy-legged man, at the ugliness of a hunch- 
back, or the repulsive hideousness of an idiot. Others there are who 
are moved by physical suffering but who are not at all affected by 
moral suffering. ‘These laugh at a self-love touched to the quick, 
at a wounded pride, at the tortured self-consciousness of one abashed 
or humiliated. ‘These are, in their eyes, harmless, and slight pricks 
which they themselves, by a coarseness of nature, or a fine moral 
health, would endure perhaps with equanimity, which at any rate 
they do not feel in behalf of others, with whom they do not suffer in 
sympathy. | 

Castigat ridendo mores. According to M. A. Michiels, the author 
of a book upon the World of Humor and of Laughter, this maxim must 
be understood in its broadest sense. “Everything that is contrary 
to the absolute ideal of human perfection,” in whatever order it 
be, whether physical, intellectual, moral, or social, arouses laughter. 
The fear of ridicule is the most dominant of our feelings, that which 
controls us in most things and with the most strength. Because of 
this fear one does “‘what one would not do for the sake of justice, 
scrupulousness, honor, or good will;”’ one submits to an infinite number 


374 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of obligations which morality would not dare to prescribe and which 
are not included in the laws. ‘‘Conscience and the written laws,” 
says A. Michiels, “form two lines of ramparts against evil, the ludicrous 
is the third line of defense, it stops, brands, and condemns the little 
misdeeds which the guards have allowed to pass.” 

Laughter is thus the great censor of vices, it spares none, it does 
not even grant indulgence to the slightest imperfections, of whatever 
nature they be. This mission, which M. Michiels attributes to 
laughter, granting that it is fulfilled, instead of taking its place in 
the natural or providential order of things, does it not answer simply 
to those demands, whether well founded or not, which society makes 
upon each of us? M. Bergson admits this, justly enough, it appears, 
when he defines laughter as a social bromide. But then it is 

no longer mere imperfection in general, it is not even immo- 
rality, properly speaking; it is merely unsociability, well or badly 
understood, which laughter corrects. More precisely, it is a special 
unsociability, one which escapes all other penalties, which it is the 
function of laughter to reach. What can this unsociability be? It 
is the self-love of each one of us in so far as it has anything disagree- 
able to others in it, an abstraction of every injurious or hateful ele- 
ment. It is the harmless self-love, slight, powerless, which one does 
not fear but one scorns, yet for all that does not pardon but on the 
contrary pitilessly pursues, wounds, and galls. Self-love thus defined 
is vanity, and what is called the moral correction administered by 
laughter is the wound to self-love. ‘‘The specific remedy for vanity,” 
says M. Bergson, “‘is laughter, and the essentially ridiculous is vanity.” 

One sees in what sense laughter is a ‘‘correction.”” Whether one 
considers the jests uttered, the feelings of the jester, or of- him at 
whom one jests, laughter appears from the point of view of morality 
as a correction most often undeserved, unjust—or at least dispro- 
portionate to the fault—pitiless, and cruel. 

In fact, the self-love at which one laughs is, as we have said, 
harmless. Besides it is often a natural failing, a weakness, not - 
a vice. Even if it were a vice, the jester would not be justified in 
laughing at it, for it does not appear that he himself is exempt. On 
the contrary, his vanity is magnified when that of others is upon 
the rack. Finally the humiliation caused by laughter is not a 
chastisement which one accepts but a torture to which one submits; 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 375 


it is a feeling of resentment, of bitterness, not a wholesome sense of 
shame, nor one from which anyone is likely to profit. Laughter 
may then have a social use; but it is not an act of justice. It isa 
quick and summary police measure which will not stand too close a 
scrutiny but which it would be imprudent either to condemn or to 
approve without reserve. Society is established and organized 
according to natural laws which seem to be modeled on those of 
reason, but self-loves discipline themselves, they enter into conflict 
and hold each other in check. 

sag ai 


+ 
C. LANGUAGE AND THE COMMUNICATION OF IDEAS 


1. Intercommunication in the Lower Animals! 


The foundations of intercommunication, like those of imitation, 
are laid in certain instinctive modes of response, which are stimulated - 
by the acts of other animals of the same social group. 

Some account has already been given of the sounds made by 
young birds, which seem to be instinctive and to afford an index of 
the emotional state at the time of utterance. That in many cases 
they serve to evoke a like emotional state and correlated expressive 
behavior in other birds of the same brood cannot be questioned. 
The alarm note of a chick will place its companions on the alert; 
and the harsh “krek” of a young moor-hen, uttered in a peculiar 
crouching attitude, will often throw others into this attitude, though 
the maker of the warning sound may be invisible. ‘That the cries of 
her brood influence the conduct of the hen is a matter of familiar 
observation; and that her danger signal causes them at once to crouch 
or run to her for protection is not less familar. No one who has 
watched a cat with her kittens, or a sheep with her lambs, can doubt 
that such “dumb animals” are influenced in their behavior by sug- 
gestive sounds. The important questions are, how they originate, 
what is their value, and how far such intercommunication—if such 
we may call it—extends. | “si 

There can be but little question that in all cases of animals under 
natural conditions such behavior has an instinctive basis. ‘Though 
the effect may be to establish a means of communication, such is not 


* Adapted from C. Lloyd Morgan, Animal Behaviour, pp. 193-205. (Edward 
Arnold, 1908.) 


376 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


their conscious purpose at the outset. They are presumably con- 
genital and hereditary modes of emotional expression which serve 
to evoke responsive behavior in another animal—the reciprocal 
action being generally in its primary origin between mate and mate, 
between parent and offspring, or between members of the same 
family group. And it is this reciprocal action which constitutes it 
a factor in social evolution. Its chief interest in connection with the 
subject of behavior lies in the fact that it shows the instinctive founda- 
tions on which intelligent and eventually rational modes of inter- 
communication are built up. For instinctive as the sounds are at 
the outset, by entering into the conscious situation and taking their 
part in the association-complex of experience, they become factors 
in the social life as modified and directed by intelligence. To their 
original instinctive value as the outcome of stimuli, and as themselves 
affording stimuli to responsive behavior, is added a value for con- 
sciousness in so far as they enter into those guiding situations by which 
intelligent behavior is determined. And if they also serve to evoke, 
in the reciprocating members of the social group, similar or allied 
emotional states, there is thus added a further social bond, inasmuch 
as there are thus laid the foundations of sympathy. 

“What makes the old sow grunt and the piggies sing and whine wi 
said a little girl to a portly, substantial farmer. “I suppose they 
does it for company, my dear,” was the simple and cautious reply. 
So far as appearances went, that farmer looked as guiltless of theories 
as man could be. And yet he gave terse expression to what may 
perhaps be regarded as the most satisfactory hypothesis as to the 
primary purpose of animal sounds. ‘They are a means by which each 
indicates to others the fact of his comforting presence; and they 
still, to a large extent, retain their primary function. The chirping 
of grasshoppers, the song of the cicada, the piping of frogs in the pool, 
the bleating of lambs at the hour of dusk, the lowing of contented 
cattle, the call-notes of the migrating host of birds—all these, what- 
ever else they may be, are the reassuring social links of sound, the 
grateful signs of kindred presence. Arisimg thus in close relation to 
the primitive feelings of social sympathy, they would naturally be 
called into play with special force and suggestiveness at times of strong 
emotional excitement, and the earliest differentiations would, we 
may well believe, be determined along lines of emotional expression. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION i I 


Thus would originate mating cries, male and female after their kind; 
and parental cries more or less differentiated into those of mother and 
offspring, the deeper note of the ewe differing little save in pitch and 
timbre from the bleating of her lamb, while the cluck of the hen 
differs widely from the peeping note of the chick in down. Thus, 
too, would arise the notes of anger and combat, of fear and distress, 
of alarm and warning. If we call these the instinctive language of 
emotional expression, we must remember that such “language” 
differs markedly from the “language” of which the sentence is the 
recognized unit. 

It is, however, not improbable that, through association in the 
conscious situation, sounds, having their origin in emotional expression 
and evoking jin others like emotional states, may acquire a new value 
in suggesting, for example, the presence of particular enemies. An 
example will best serve to indicate my meaning. The following is 
from H. B; Medlicott: 


In the early dawn of a grey morning I was geologizing along the base 
of the Muhair Hills in South Behar, when all of a sudden there was a 
stampede of many pigs from the fringe of the jungle, with porcine shrieks 
of sauve qui peut significance. After a short run in the open they took to 
the jungle again, and in a few minutes there was another uproar, but 
different in sound and in action; there was a rush, presumably of the 
fighting members, to the spot where the row began, and after some seconds 
a large leopard sprang from the midst of the scuffle. In a few bounds he 
was in the open, and stood looking back, licking his chops. The pigs did 
not break cover, but continued on their way. ‘They were returning to their 
lair after a night’s feeding on the plain, several families having combined 
for mutual protection; while the beasts of prey were evidently waiting 
for the occasion. I was alone, and, though armed, I did not care to beat 
up the ground to see if in either case a kill had been effected. The numerous 
herd covered a vonsiderable space, and the scrub was thick. The prompt 
concerted action must in each case have been started by the special cry. 
I imagine that the first assailant was a tiger, and the case was at once 
known to be hopeless, the cry prompting instant flight, while in the second 
case the cry was for defense. It can scarcely be doubted that in the first 
case each adult pig had a vision of a tiger, and in the second of a leopard 
or some minor foe. 


If we accept Mr. Medlicott’s interpretation as in the main correct, 
we have in this case: (1) common action in social behavior, (2) 





improbable hypothesis, treretors that in the course of evolution 
the initial value of uttered sounds is emotional; but that on this may 
' be grafted in further development the indication of particular enemies. 
If, for example, the cry which prompts instant flight among the pigs 
is called forth by a tiger, it is reasonable to suppose that this cry 
would give rise to a representative generic image of that animal 
having its influence on the conscious situation. But if the second 
cry, for defense, was prompted sometimes by a leopard and some- 
times by some other minor foe, then this cry would not give rise to a 
representative image of the same definiteness. Whether animals 
have the power of intentionally differentiating the sounds they make 
to indicate different objects is extremely doubtful. Can a dog bark 
in different tones to indicate “‘cat” or ‘‘rat,” as the case may be? 
Probably not. It may, however, be asked why, if a pig may squeak 
differently, and thus, perhaps, incidentally indicate on the one hand 
“tiger”? and on the other hand “leopard,” should not a dog bark 
differently and thus indicate appropriately “‘cat” or “‘rat’’? Be- 
cause it is assumed that the two different cries in the pig are the 
instinctive expression of two different emotional states, and Mr. 
Medlicott could distinguish them; whereas, in the case of the dog, 
we can distinguish no difference between his barking in the one case 
and the other, nor do the emotional states appear to be differentiated. 
Of course there may be differences which we have failed to detect. 
What may be regarded, however, as improbable is the inientional 
differentiation of sounds by barking in different tones with the 
purpose of indicating ‘“‘cat” or “rat.” 

Such powers of intercommunication as animals possess are based on 
direct association and refer to the here and the now. A dog may be 
able to suggest to his companion the fact that he has descried a _ 
worriable cat; but can a dog tell his neighbor of the delightful worry 
he enjoyed the day before yesterday in the garden where the 
man with the biscuit tin lives? Probably not, bark he never so 
expressively. 

From the many anecdotes of dogs calling others to their assistance 
or bringing others to those who feed them or treat them kindly, we 
may indeed infer the existence of a social tendency and of the sug- 


— 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 379 


gestive effects of behavior, but we cannot derive conclusive evidence 
of anything like descriptive communication. 

Such intentional communication as is to be found in animals, 
if indeed we may properly so call it, seems to arise by an association 
of the performance of some act in a conscious situation involving 
further behavior for its complete development. Thus the cat which 
touches the handle of the door when it wishes to leave the room has 
had experience in which the performance of this act has coalesced 
with a specific development of the conscious situation. The case is 
similar when your dog drops a ball or stick at your feet, wishing you 
to throw it for him to fetch. Still, it is clear that such an act would 
be the perceptual precursor of the deliberate conduct of the rational 
being by whom the sign is definitely realized as a sign, the intentional 
meaning of which is distinctly present to thought. ‘his involves a 
judgment concerning the sign as an object of thought; and this is 
probably beyond the capacity of the dog. For, as Romanes himself 
says, “It is because the human mind is able, so to speak, to stand 
_ outside of itself and thus to constitute its own ideas the subject- 
matter of its own thought that it is capable of judgment, whether in 
the act of conception or in that of predication. We have no evidence 
to show that any animal is capable of objectiiying its own ideas; 


and therefore we have no evidence that any animal is capable of LY 


judgment.’’y 


2. The Concept as the Medium of Human Communication’ 


There is a petrified philosophy in language, and if we examine 
the most ancient word for ‘“‘name,”’ we find it is néman in Sanskrit, 
nomen in Latin, namé in Gothic. This néman stands for guaéman, 
and is derived from the root gnd@, to know, and meant originally that 
by which we know a thing. 

And how do we know things ? 

The first step toward the real knowledge, a step which, however 
small in appearance, separates man forever from all other animals, 
is the naming of a thing, or the making a thing knowable. All nam- 
ing is classification, bringing the individual under the general; and 


t Adapted from F. Max Miler, The Science of Language, I, 520-27. (Long- 
mans, Green & Co., 1891.) 


f J 
ft 
i 


| Le 


380 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


whatever we know, whether empirically or scientifically, we know it 
by means of our general ideas. . 

At the very point where man parts company with the brute world, 
at the first flash of reason as the manifestation of the light within us, 
there we see the true genesis of language. Analyze any word you 
like and you will find that it expresses a general idea peculiar to the 
individual to whom the name belongs. What is the meaning of 
moon? The measurer. What isthe meaning of sun? The begetter. 
What is the meaning of earth? ‘The ploughed. 

If the serpent is called in Sankrit sarpa, it is because it was con- 
ceived under the general idea of creeping, an idea expressed by the 
root srip. | 

An ancient word for man was the Sanskrit maria, the Greek 
brotos, the Latin mortalis. Marta means ‘‘he who dies,” and it is 
remarkable that, where everything else was changing, fading, and 
dying, this should have been chosen as the distinguishing name for 
man. | 

There were many more names for man, as there were many names 
for all things in ancient languages. Any feature that struck the 
observing mind as peculiarly characteristic could be made to furnish 
a new name. In common Sanskrit dictionaries we find 5 words for 
hand, 11 for light, 15 for cloud, 20 for moon, 26 for snake, 33 for 
slaughter, 35 for fire, 37 for sun. The sun might be called the bright, 
the warm, the golden, the preserver, the destroyer, the wolf, the 
lion, the heavenly eye, the father of light and life. Hence that 
superabundance of synonyms in ancient dialects, and hence that 
struggle for life carried on among these words, which led to the 
- destruction of the less strong, the less fertile, the less happy words, 
and ended in the triumph of one as the recognized and proper name 
for every object in every language. On a very small scale this 
process of natural selection, or, as it would better be called, elimina- 
tion, may still be watched even in modern languages, that is to say, 
even in languages so old and stricken in years as English and French. 
What it was at the first burst of dialects we can only gather from 
such isolated cases as when von Hammer counts 5,744 words all 
relating to the camel. 

The fact that every word is originally a predicate—that nanies, 
though signs of individual conceptions, are all, without exception, 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 381 


derived from general ideas—is one of the most important discoveries 
in the science of language. It was known before that language is 
the distinguishing characteristic of man; it was known also that the 
having of general ideas is that which puts a perfect distinction 
betwixt man and brutes; but that these two were only different 
expressions of the same fact was not known till the theory of roots 
had been established as preferable to the theories both of onomato- 
poieia and of interjections. But, though our modern philosophy 
did not know it, the ancient poets and framers of language must have 
known it. For in Greek, language is logos, but logos means also 
reason, and alogon was chosen as the name and the most proper 
name, for brute. No animal, so far as we know, thinks’and speaks 
except man. Language and thought are inseparable. Words with- 
out thought are dead sounds; thoughts without words are nothing. 
- To think is to speak low; to speak is to think aloud. ‘The word is the 
thought incarnate. 

What are the two problems left unsettled at the end of the 
Science of Language: ‘“‘How do mere cries become phonetic types ?” 
and “‘How can sensations be changed into concepts?” What are 
these two, if taken together, but the highest problem of all philosophy, 
viz., ‘What is the origin of reason ?”’ 


5 


— “4 eue ° ° 
< . Writing as a Form of Communication’ 


The earliest stages of writing were those in which pictographic 
forms were used; that is, a direct picture was drawn upon the writing 
surface, reproducing as nearly as possible the kind of impression 
made upon the observer by the object itself. To be sure, the draw- 
ing used to represent the object was not an exact reproduction or full 
copy of the object, but it was a fairly direct image. ‘The visual 
memory image was thus aroused by a direct perceptual appeal to the 
eye. Anyone could read a document written in this pictograph 
form, if he had ever seen the objects to which the pictures referred. 
There was no special relation between the pictures or visual forms 
at this stage of development and the sounds used in articulate lan- 
guage. Concrete examples of such writing are seen in early monu- 
ments, where the moon is represented by the crescent, a king by the 
drawing of a man wearing a crown. 


* Adapted from Charles H. Judd, Psychology, pp. 219-24. (Ginn & Co., 1917.) 


382 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The next stage of development in writing began when the picto- 
graphic forms were reduced in complexity to the simplest possible 
lines. ‘The reduction of the picture to a few sketchy lines depended 
upon the growing ability of the reader to contribute the necessary 
interpretation. All that was needed in the figure was something 
which would suggest the fuli picture to the mind. Indeed, it is prob- 
ably true that the full picture was not needed, even in the reader’s 
consciousness. Memory images are usually much simplified repro- 
ductions of the perceptual facts. In writing we have a concrete 
expression of this tendency of memory to lose its full reproductive 
form and to become reduced to the point of the most meager contents 
for conscious thought. The simplification of the written forms is 
attained very early, and is seen even in the figures which are used 
by savage tribes. Thus, to represent the number of an enemy’s army, 
it is not necessary to draw full figures of the. forms of the enemy; 
it is enough if single straight lines are drawn with some brief indica- 
tion, perhaps at the begiffifng of the series of lines, to show that 
these stand each for an individual enemy. ‘This simplification of 
the drawing leaves the written symbol with very much larger pos- 
sibilities of entering into new relations in the mind of the reader. 
Instead, now, of being a specific drawing related to a specific object, 
it invites by-ts simple character a number of different interpretations. 
A straight line, for example, can represent not only the number of 
an enemy’s army but it can represent also the number of=sheep in 
a flock, or the number of tents in a village, -or .anything else which 
is capable of enumeration. The use of a straight line fonthese various 
purposes stimulates new mental developments. This-fS shown by 
the fact that the development of the idea of the number relation, as 
distinguished from the mass of possible relations in which an object 
may stand, is greatly facilitated by this general written symbol for 
numbers. The intimate relation between the development of ideas 
on the one hand and the development of language on the other is here 
very strikingly illustrated. ‘The drawing becomes more useful be- 
cause it is associated with more elaborate ideas, while the ideas 
develop because they find in the drawing a definite content which 
helps to mark and give separate character to the idea. 

As soon as the drawing began to lose its significance as a direct 
perceptual reproduction of the obiect and took on new and broader 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 383 


meanings through the associations which attached to it, the written 
form became a symbol, rather than a direct appeal to visual memory. 
As a symbol it stood for something which, in itself, it was not. The 
way was thus opened for the written symbol to enter into relation 
with oral speech, which is also a form of symbolism. Articulate 
sounds are simplified forms of experience capable through association 
with ideas of expressing meanings not directly related to the sounds 
themselves. When the written symbol began to be related to the 
sound symbol, there was at first a loose and irregular relation between 
them. The Egyptians seem to have established such relations to 
some extent. They wrote at times with pictures standing for sounds, 
as we now write in rebus puzzles. In such puzzles the picture of an 
object is intended to call up in the mind of the reader, not the special 
group of ideas appropriate to the object represented in the picture, 
but rather the sound which serves as the name of this object. When 
the sound is once suggested to the reader, he is supposed to attend 
to that and to connect with it certain other associations appropriate 
to the sound. To take a modern illustration, we may, for example, 
use the picture of the eye to stand for the first personal pronoun. 
. The relationship between the picture and the idea for which it is 
used is in this case through the sound of the name of the object 
depicted. ‘That the early alphabets are of this type of rebus pictures 
appears in their names. ‘The first three letters of the Hebrew alpha- 
bet, for example, are named, respectively, aleph which means ox, 
beth which means house, and gimmel which means camel. 

The complete development of a sound alphabet from this type 
of rebus writing required, doubtless, much experimentation on the 
part of the nations which succeeded in establishing the association. 
The Phoenicians have generally been credited with the invention of 
the forms and.relations which we now use. ‘Their contribution to 
civilization cannot be overestimated. It consisted, not in the 
presentation of new material or content to conscious experience, but 
rather in the bringing together by association of groups of contents 
which, in their new relation, transformed the whole process of thought 
and expression. They associated visual and auditory content and 
gave to the visual factors a meaning through association whi as 
of such unique importance as to justify us in describing the association 
as a new invention. 


384 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


There are certain systems of writing which indicate that the type 
of relationship which we use is not the only possible type of relation- 
ship. The Chinese, for example, have continued to use simple 
symbols which are related to complex sounds, not to elementary 
sounds, as are our own letters. In Chinese writing the various 
symbols, though much corrupted in form, stand each for an object. 
It is true that the forms of Chinese writing have long since lost 
their direct relationship to the pictures in which they originated. 
The present forms are simplified and symbolical. So free has the 
symbolism become that the form has been arbitrarily modified to 
make it possible for the writer to use freely the crude tools with which 
the Chinaman does his writing. ‘These practical considerations could 
not have become operative, if the direc pictographic character of 
the symbols had not long since given place to a symbolical character 
which renders the figure important, not because of what it shows in 
itself, but rather because of what it suggests to the mind of the reader. 
The relation of the symbol to elementary sounds has, however, never 
been established. This lack of association with elementary sounds 
keeps the Chinese writing at a level much lower and nearer to primitive 
pictographic forms than is our writing. ; 

Whether we have a highly elaborated symbolical system, such as 
that which appears in Chinese writing, or a form of writing which is 
related to sound, the chief fact regarding writing, as regarding all 
language, is that it depends for its value very much more upon the 
ideational relations into which the symbols are brought in the indi- 
vidual’s mind than upon the impressions which they arouse. 

The ideational associations which appear in developed language 
could never have reached the elaborate form which they have at 
present if there had not been social co-operation. The tendency of: 
the individual when left to himself is to drop back .into the direct 
adjustments which are appropriate to his own life. He might possibly 
develop articulation to a certain‘extent for his own sake, but the chief: 
impulse to the development of language comes through intercourse 
with others. As we have seen, the development of the simplest 
forms of communication, as in animals, is a matter of social imitation. 
Writing is also an outgrowth of social relations. It is extremely 
doubtful whether even the child of civilized parents would ever 
have any su‘ficient motive for the development of writing, if it 
were not for the social encouragement he receives. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 385 


4. The Extension of Communication by Human Invention’ 


No one who is asked to name the agencies that weave the great 
web of intellectual and material influences and counter-influences by 
which modern humanity is combined into the unity of society will 
er, along with the 


post, railroad, and telegraph. 

In fact, the newspaper forms a link in the chain of modern 
commercial machinery; it is one of those contrivances by which in 
society the exchange of intellectual and material goods is facilitated. 
Yet it is not an instrument of commercial intercourse in the sense of 
the post or the railway, both of which have to do with the transport 
of persons, goods, and news, but rather in the sense of the letter and 
circular. These make the news capable of transport only because 
they are enabled by the help of writing and printing to cut it adrift, 
as it were, from its originator and give it corporeal independence. 

However great the difference between letter, circular, and news- 
paper may appear today, a little reflection shows that all three are 
essentially similar products, originating in the necessity of com- 
municating news and in the employment of writing in its satisfaction. 
The sole difference consists in the letter being addressed to individuals, 
the circular to several specified persons, the newspaper to many 
unspecified persons. Or, in other words, while letter and circular 
are instruments for the private communication of news, the news- 
paper is an instrument for its publication. 

Today we are, of course, accustomed to the regular printing of 
the newspaper and its periodical appearance at brief intervals. But 
neither of these is an essential characteristic of the newspaper as a 
means of news publication. On the contrary, it will become apparent 
directly that the primitive paper from which this mighty instrument 
of commercial intercourse is sprung appeared neither in printed 
form nor periodically, but that it closely resembled the letter from 
which, indeed, it can scarcely be distinguished. To be sure, repeated 
appearance at brief intervals is involved in the very nature of news 
publication. For news has value only so long as it is fresh; and to 
preserve for it the charm of novelty its publication must follow in 
the footsteps of the events. We shall, however, soon see that the 


* Adapted from Carl Biicher, Industrial Evolution. Translated by S. Morley 
Wickett, pp. 216-43. (Henry Holt & Co., 1907.) 


386 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


periodicity of these intervals, as far as it can be noticed in the infancy 
of journalism, depended upon the regular recurrence of opportu- 
nities to transport the news, and was in no way connected with the 
essential nature of the newspaper. 

The regular collection and despatch of news presupposes a wide- 
spread interest in public affairs, or an extensive area of trade exhibit- 
ing numerous commercial connections and combinations of interest, 
or both at once. Such interest is not realized until people are united 
by some more or less extensive political organization into a certain 
community of life-interest. The city republics of ancient times 
required no newspaper; all their needs of publication sould be met 
by the herald and by inscriptions, as occasion demanded. Only when 
Roman supremacy had embraced or subjected to its influence all the 
countries of the Mediterranean was there need of some means by 
which, those members of the ruling class who: had gone to the prov- 
inces as officials, tax-farmers, and in other occupations, might receive 
the current news of the capital. It is significant that Caesar, the 
creator of the military monarchy and of the administrative centrali- 
zation of Rome, is regarded as the founder of the first contrivance 
resembling a newspaper. 

Indeed, long before Caesar’s consulate it had become customary 
for Romans in the provinces to keep one or more correspondents at 
the capital to send them written reports on the course of politicai 
movement and on other events of the day. Such a correspondent 
was generally an intelligent slave or freedman intimately acquainted 
with affairs at the capital, who, moreover, often made a business of 
reporting for several. He was thus a species of primitive reporter, 
differing from those of today only in writing, not for a newspaper, 
but directly for readers. On recommendation of their employers, 
these reporters enjoyed at times admission even to the senate dis- 
cussions. Antony kept such a man, whose duty it was to report to 
him not merely on the senate’s resolutions but also on the speeches 
and votes of the senators. Cicero, when proconsul, received through - 
his friend, M. Caelius, the reports of a certain Chrestus, but seems 
not to have been particularly well satisfied with the latter’s accounts 
of gladiatorial sports, law-court proceedings, and the various pieces 
of city gossip. As in this case, such correspondence never extended 
beyond a rude relation of facts that required supplementing through 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 387 


letters from party friends of the absent person. These friends, as 
we know from Cicero, supplied the real report on political feeling. 

The innovation made by Caesar consisted in instituting the 
publication of a brief record of the transactions and resolutions of 
the senate, and in his causing to be published the transactions 
of the assemblies of the plebs, as well as other important matters of 
public concern. 

The Germanic peoples who, after the Romans, assumed the lead 
in the history of Europe were neither in civilization nor in political 
organizatiett -fitted-to maintain a similar constitution of the news 
service; nor did they require it. All through the Middle Ages the 
political and social life of men was bounded by a narrow horizon; 
culture retired to the cloisters and for centuries affected only the 
people of prominence. ‘There were no trade interests beyond the 
narrow walls of their own town or manor to draw men together. It 
is only in the later centuries of the Middle Ages that extensive socia! 
combinations once more appear. It is first the church, embracing 
with her hierarchy all the countries of Germanic and Latin civiliza- 
tion, next the burgher class with its city confederacies and common 
trade interests, and, finally, as a counter-influence to these, the secular 
territorial powers, who succeed in zradually realizing some form of 
union. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries we notice the first 
traces of an organized service for transmission of news and letters in 
the messengers of monasteries, the universities, and the various 
spiritual dignitaries; in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries we 
have advanced to a comprehensive, almost postlike, organization of 
local messenger bureaus for the epistolary intercourse of traders and 
of municipal authorities. And now, for the first time, we meet with the 
word Zeitung, or newspaper. The word meant originally that which 
was happening at the time (Zeit=“‘time’’), a present occurrence; 
then information on such an event, a message, a report, news. 

Venice was long regarded as the birthplace of the newspaper in the 
modern acceptation of the word. As the channel of trade between 
the East and the West, as the seat of a government that first organized 
the political news service and the consular system in the modern 
sense, the old city of lagoons formed a natural collecting center for 
important news items from all lands of the known world. Even 
early in the fifteenth century, as has been shown by the investigations 


388 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of Valentinelli, the librarian of St. Mark’s Library, collections of news 
had been made at the instance of the council of Venice regarding 
events that had either occurred within the republic or been reported 
by ambassadors, consuls, and officials, by ships’ captains, merchants, 
and the like. ‘These were sent as circular despatches to the Venetian 
representatives abroad to keep them posted on international affairs. 
Such collections of news were called foglz d’avvist. 

The further development of news publication in the field that it 
has occupied since the more general adoption of the printing-press 
has been peculiar. At the outset the publisher of a periodical 
printed newspaper differed in no wise from the publisher of any other 
printed work—for instance, of a pamphlet or a book. He was but 
the multiplier and seller of a literary product, over whose content he 
had no control. The newspaper publisher marketed the regular 
post-news in its printed form just as another publisher offered the 
public a herbal or an edition of an old writer. 

But this soon changed. It was readily perceived that the 
contents of a newspaper number did not form an entity in the same 
sense as the contents of a book or pamphlet. ‘The news items there 
brought together, taken from different sources, were of varying reli- 
ability. ‘They needed to be used judicially and critically: in this a 
political or religious bias could find ready expression. In a still 
higher degree was this the case when men began to discuss con- 
temporary political questions in the newspapers and to employ them 
as a medium for disseminating party opinions. 

This took place first in England during the Long Parliament and 
the Revolution of 1640. The Netherlands and a part of the imperial 
free towns of Germany followed later. In France the change was 
not consummated before the era of the great Revolution: in most — 
other countries it occurred in the nineteenth century. The news- 
paper, from being a mere vehicle for the publication of news, became . 
an instrument for supporting and shaping public opinion and a 
weapon of party politics. 


The effect of this upon the internal organization of the news-. ~ 


paper undertaking was to introduce a third department, the editor- 
ship, between news collecting and news publication. For the 
newspaper publisher, however, it signified that from a mere seller of 


news he had become a dealer in public opinion as well. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 389 


At first this meant nothing more than that the publisher was 
placed in a position to shift a portion of the risk of his undertaking 
upon a party organization, a circle of interested persons, or a govern- 
ment. If the leanings of the paper were distasteful to the readers, 
they ceased to buy the paper. Their wishes thus remained, in the 
final analysis, the determining factor for the contents of the news- 
papers. 

The gradually expanding circulation of the printed newspapers 
nevertheless soon led to their employment by the authorities for 
making public announcements. With this came, in the first quarter 
of the last century, the extension of private announcements, which 
have now attained, through the so-called advertising bureaus, some 
such organization as political news-collecting possesses in the cor- 
respondence bureaus. 

The modern newspaper is a capitalistic enterprise, a sort of news- 
factory in which a great number of people (correspondents, editors, 
typesetters, correctors, machine-tenders, collectors of advertisements, 
office clerks, messengers, etc.) are employed on wage, under a single 
administration, at very specialized work. This paper produces 
wares for an unknown circle of readers, from whom it is, further- 
more, frequently separated by intermediaries, such as delivery 
agencies and postal institutions. The simple needs of the reader or 
of the circle of patrons no longer determine the quality of these 
wares; it is now the very complicated conditions of competition in 
the publication market. In this market, however, as generally in 
wholesale markets, the consumers of the goods, the- newspaper 
readers, take no direct part; the determining factors are the whole- 
sale dealers and the speculators in news: the governments, the tele- 
graph bureaus dependent upon their special correspondents, the 
political parties, artistic and scientific cliques, men on ’change, and, 
last but not least, the advertising agencies and large individual 
advertisers. 

Each number of a great journal which appears today is a marvel 
of economic division of labor, capitalistic organization, and mechani- 
cal technique; it is an instrument of intellectual and economic 
intercourse, in which the potencies of all other instruments of 
commerce—the railway, the post, the telegraph, and the telephone— 
are united as in a focus. 


a 


390 + INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


D. IMITATION 


1. Definition of Imitation? 


The term “imitation” is used in ordinary language to designate 
any repetition of any act or thought which has been noted by an 
observer. Thus one imitates the facial expression of another, or his 
mode of speech. The term has been brought into prominence in 
scientific discussions through the work of Gabriel Tarde, who in his 
Les lois de ’ imitation points out that imitation is a fundamental fact 
underlying all social development. The customs of society are 
imitated from generation to generation. The fashions of the day 
are imitated by large groups of people without any consciousness 
of the social solidarity which is derived from this common mode of 
behavior. There is developed through these various forms of imita- 
tion a body of experiences which is common to all of the members 
of a given social group. In complex society the various imitations 
which tend to set themselves up are frequently found to be in conflict; 
thus the tendency toward elaborate fashions in dress is constantly 
limited by the counter-tendency toward simpler fashions. The 
conflict of tendencies leads to individual variations from the example 
offered at any given time, and, as a result, there are new examples 
to be followed. Complex social examples are thus products of 
conflict. 

This general doctrine of Tarde has been elaborated by a number 
of recent writers. Royce calls attention to the fundamental impor- 
tance of imitation as a means of social inheritance. Thesame doctrine 
is taken up by Baldwin in his Mental Development in the Child and 
Race, and in Social and Ethical Interpretations. With these later 
writers, imitation takes on a significance which is somewhat technical 
and broader than the significance which it has either with Tarde or 
in the ordinary use of the term. Baldwin uses the term to cover 
that case in which an individual repeats an act because he has him- 
self gone through the act. In such a case one imitates himself and 
sets up what Baldwin terms a circular reaction. The principle of 
_ imitation is thus introduced into individual psychology as well as into — 
* general social psychology, and the relation between the individual’s 


From Charles H. Judd, “‘Imitation,” in Monroe’s Cyclopedia of Education, 
III, 388-89. (Published by The Macmillan Co., 1912. Reprinted by permission.) 


Ri 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 391 


acts and his own imagery is brought under the same general principle 
as the individual’s responses to his social environment. The term 
“imitation” in this broader sense is closely related to the processes 
of sympathy. 

The term “social heredity” has very frequently been used in 
connection with all of the processes here under discussion. Society 
tends to perpetuate itself in the new individual in a fashion analogous 
to that in which the physical characteristics of the earlier generation 
tend to perpetuate themselves in the physical characteristics of the 
new generation. Since modes of behavior, such as acts of courtesy, 
cannot be transmitted through physical structure,.they would tend 
to lapse if they were not maintained through imitation from generation 
to generation. ‘Thus imitation gives uniformity to social practicesand | , 
consequently is to be treated as a form of supplementary inheritance ./ 
extending beyond physical inheritance and making effective the 
established forms of social practice. 


2. Attention, Interest, and Imitation' 


Imitation is a process of very great importance for the develop- 
ment of mental life in both men and animals. In its more complex 
forms it presupposes trains of ideas; but in its essentia! features it 
is present and operative at the perceptual level. It is largely through 
imitation that the results of the experience of one generation are 
transmitted to the next, so as to form the basis for further develop- 

ment. Where trains of ideas play a relatively unimportant part, as 
in the case of animals, imitation may be said to be the sole form of 
social tradition. In the case of human beings, the thought of past 
generations is embodied'‘in language, institutions, machinery, and 
the like. ‘This distinctively human tradition presupposes trains of 
ideas in past generations, which so mold the environment of a new 
generation that in apprehending and adapting itself to this environ- 
ment it must re-think the old trains of thought. Tradition of this 
kind is not found in animal life, because the animal mind does not 
proceed by way of trains of ideas. None the less, the more intelligent 
animals depend largely on tradition. This tradition consists essen- 
tially in imitation by the young of the actions of their parents, or 


t Adapted from G. F. Stout, A Manual of Psychology, pp. 390-91. (The 
University Tutorial Press, 1913.) 


392 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of other members of the community in which they are born. ‘The 
same directly imitative process, though it is very far from forming 
the whole of social tradition in human beings, forms a very important 
part of it. : 

a) The imitative impulse—We must distinguish between ability 
to imitate and impulse to imitate. We may be already fully able to 
perform an action, and the sight of it as performed by another may 
merely prompt us to reproduce it. But the sight of an act performed 
by another may also have an educational influence; it may not only 
stimulate us to do what we are already able to do without its aid; 
it may also enable us to do what we could not do without having an 
example to follow. When the cough of one man sets another cough- » 
ing, it is evident that imitation here consists only in the impulse to 
follow suit. The second man does not learn how to cough from the 
example of the first. He is simply prompted to do on this particular 
occasion what he is otherwise quite capable of doing. But if 1 am 
learning billiards and someone shows me by his own example how to 
make a particular stroke, the case is different. It is not his example 
which in the first instance prompts me to the action. He merely 
shows the way to do what I already desire to do. 

We have then first to discuss the nature of the imitative impulse — 
the impulse to perform an action which arises from the perception of 
it as performed by another. 

This impulse is an affair of attentive consciousness. ‘The percep- 
tion of an action prompts us to reproduce it when and so far as it 
excites interest or is at least intimately connected with what does 
excite interest. Further, the interest must be of such a nature that 
it is more fully gratified by partially or wholly repeating the inter- 
esting action. ‘Thus imitation is a special development of attention. 
Attention is always striving after a more vivid, more definite, and 
more complete apprehension of its object. Imitation is a way in 
which this endeavor may gratify itself when the interest in the object 
is of a certain kind. It is obvious that we do not try to imitate all 
manner of actions, without distinction, merely because they take 
place under our eyes. What is familiar and commonplace or what . 
for any other reason is unexciting or insipid fails to stir us to re-enact 
it. It is otherwise with what is strikingly any way 
impressive, so that our attention dwells on it or fasci- 





SOCIAL INTERACTION 393 


nation. It is, of course, not true that whatever act fixes attention 
prompts to imitation. This is only the case where imitation 
helps attention, where it is, in fact, a special development of 
attention. ‘This is so when interest is directly concentrated on the 
activity itself for its own sake rather than for the sake of its 
possible consequences and the like ulterior motives. But it is not 
necessary that the act in_itself should be interesting; in a most 
important class of casés the interest centers, not directly in the 
external act imitated, but in something else with which this act 
is so intimately connected as virtually to form a part of it. Thus 
there is a tendency to imitate not only interesting acts but also the 
acts of interesting persons. Men are apt to imitate the gestures and 
modes of speech of those who excite their admiration or affection or 
some other personal interest. Children imitate their parents or 
their leaders in the playground. Even the mannerisms and tricks of 
a great man are often unconsciously copied by those who regard him 
as a hero. In such instances the primary interest is in the whole 
personality of the model; but this is more vividly and distinctly 
brought before consciousness by reproducing his externa! peculiari- 
ties. Our result, then, is that interest in an action prompts to imita- 
tion in proportion to its intensity, provided the interest is of a kind 
which will be gratified or sustained by imitative activity. 

b) Learning by imitation..—Let us now turn to the other side of 
the question. Let us consider the case in which the power of per- 
forming an action is acquired in and by the process of imitation itself. 
Here there is a general rule which is obvious when once it is pointed 
out. It is part of the still more general rule that “to him that hath 
shall be given.” Our power of imitating the activity of another is 
strictly proportioned to our pre-existing power of performing the 
same general kind of action independently. For instance, one devoid 
of musical faculty has practically no power of imitating the violin 
playing of Joachim. Imitation may develop and improve a power 
which already exists, but it cannot create it. Consider the child 
beginning for the first time to write in a copybook. He learns by 
imitation; but it is only because he has already some rudimentary 
ability to make such simple figures as pothooks that the imitative 
process can get a start. At the outset, his pothooks are very unlike 
the model set before him. Gradually he improves; increased power 


394 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of independent production gives step by step increased power of 
imitation, until he approaches too closely the limits of his capacity 
in this direction to make any further progress of an appreciable kind. 

But this is an incomplete account of the matter. The power of 
learning by imitation is part of the general power of learning by 
experience; it involves mental plasticity. An animal which starts 
life with congenital tendencies and aptitudes of a fixed and stereo- 
typed kind, so that they admit of but little modification in the course 
of individual development, has correspondingly little power of 
learning by imitation. 

At higher levels of mental development the imitative impulse is 
far less conspicuous because impulsive activity in general is checked’ 
and overruled by activity organized in a unified system. Civilized 
men imitate not so much because of immediate interest in the action 
imitated as with-a view to the attainment of desirable ae 


3. The Three Levels of Sympathy‘ 


Sympathy is not an instinct or a tendency, ie., a group of co- 
ordinated movements adapted to a particular end, and showing 
itself in consciousness as an emotion, such as fear, anger, sex attrac- 
tion; it is, on the contrary, a highly generalized psycho-physiological 
property. To the specialized character of each emotion it opposes a 
character of almost unlimited plasticity. We have not to consider 
it under all its aspects but as one of the most important manifestations 
of emotional life, as the basis of the tender emotions, and one of the 
foundations of social and moral existence. 

a) The first phase.—In its primitive form sympathy is reflex, 
automatic, unconscious, or very slightly conscious; it is, according 
to Bain, the tendency to produce in ourselves an attitude, a state, a 
bodily movement which we perceive in another person. This is 
imitation in its most rudimentary form. Between sympathy and 
imitation, at any rate in this primitive period, I see only one difference 
of aspect: sympathy everywhere marks the passive, receptive side 
of the phenomenon; imitation, its active and motor side. 

It manifests itself in animals forming aggregates (not societies), 
such as a flock of sheep, or a pack of dogs who run, stop, bark all at 


* Adapted from Th. Ribot, The Psychology of the Emotions, pp. 230-34. 
(Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1898.) 





SOCIAL INTERACTION 395 


the same time, through a purely physical impulse of imitation; in 
man, infectious laughter or yawning, walking in step, imitating the 
movements of a rope-walker while watching him, feeling a shock in 
one’s legs when one sees a man falling, and a hundred other occur- 
rences of this kind are cases of physiological sympathy. It plays a 
great part in the psychology of crowds, with their rapid attacks and 
sudden panics. In nervous diseases, there is a superfluity of examples: 
epidemics of hysteric fits, convulsive barking, hiccup, etc. I omit 
the mental maladies (epidemics of suicide, double or triple madness) 
since we are only considering the purely physiological stage. 

To sum up, sympathy is originally a property of living matter: 
as there is an organic memory and an organic sensitiveness, being 
those of the tissues and ultimate elements which compose them, 
there is an organic sympathy, made up of receptivity and imitative 
movements. 

b) The second phase.—The next phase is that of sympathy in the 
psychological sense, necessarily accompanied by consciousness; it 
creates in two or more individuals analogous emotional states. Such 
are the cases in which we say that fear, indignation, joy, or sorrow 
are communicated, It consists in feeling an emotion existing in an- 
other, and is revealed to us by its physiological expression. ‘This 
phase consists of two stages. 

(x) The first might be defined as psychological unison. If, 
during this period of unison, we could read the minds of those who 
sympathize, we should see a single emotional fact reflected in the 
consciousness of several individuals. L. Noiré, in his book, Ursprung 
der Sprache, has proposed the theory that language originated in 
community of action among the earliest human beings. When 
working, marching, dancing, rowing, they uttered (according to this 
writer) sounds which became the appellatives of these different 
actions, or of various objects; and these sounds, being uttered by 
all, must have been understood by all. Whether this theorv be 
correct or not (it has been accepted as such by Max Miiller), it will 
serve as an illustration. But: this state of sympathy does not by 
itself constitute a tie of affection or tenderness between those who 
feel it; it only prepares the way for such an emotion. It may be the 
basis of a certain social solidarity, because the same internal states 
excite the same acts of a mechanical, exterior, non-moral solidarity. 


306 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(2) The second stage is that of sympathy, in the restricted and 
popular sense of the word. ‘This consists of psychological unison, 
plus a new element: there is added another emotional manifestation, 
tender emotion (benevolence, sympathy, pity, etc.). It is no longer 
sympathy pure and simple, it is a binary compound. ‘The common 
habit of considering phenomena only under their higher and complete 
forms often misleads us as to their origin and constitution. More- 
over, in order to understand that this is a case of duality—the fusion 
of two distinct elements—and that our analysis is not a factitious 
one, it is sufficient to point out that sympathy (in the etymological 
sense) may exist without any tender emotion—nay, that it may 
exclude instead of excite it. According to Lubbock, while ants carry | 
away their wounded, bees—though forming a society—are indifferent 
toward each other. It is well known that gregarious animals nearly 
always shun and desert a wounded member of the herd. Among 
men, how many there are who, when they see suffering, hasten to 
withdraw themselves from the spectacle, in order to escape the pain 
which it sympathetically awakens in them. This impulse may go to 
the length of aversion, as typified by Dives in the Gospel. It is 
therefore a complete psychological error to consider sympathy as 
capable, unaided, of delivering men from egoism ; it only takes the 
first step, and not always that. 

c) The third phase-—Under its intellectual ona: sympathy is an 
agreement in feelings and actions, founded on unity of representation. 
The law of development is summed up in Spencer’s formula, “The 
degree and range of sympathy depend on the clearness and extent of 
representation.” I should, however, add: on condition of being 
based on an emotional temperament. This last is the source par 
excellence of sympathy, because it vibrates like an echo; the active 
temperament lends itself less to such impulses, because it has so 
much to do in manifesting its own individuality that it can scarcely 
manifest those of others; finally, the phlegmatic temperament does 
so least of all, because it presents a minimum of emotional life; like — 
Leibnitz’ monads, it has no windows.s 

In passing from the emotional to the intellectual phase, sympathy 
gains in extent and stability. In fact, emotional sympathy requires — 
some andlogy in temperament or nature; it can scarcely be estab- 
lished between the timid and the daring, between the cheerful and 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 307 


the melancholic; ‘it may be extended to all human beings and to the 
animals nearest us, but not beyond them. On the contrary, it is the 
special attribute of intelligence to seek resemblances or analogies 
everywhere, to unify; it embraces the whole of nature. By the law 
of transfer (which we have already studied) sympathy follows this 
invading march and comprehends even inanimate objects, as in the 
case of the poet, who feels himself in communion with the sea, the 
woods, the lakes, or the mountains. Besides, intellectual sympathy 
participates in the relative fixity of representation; we find a simple 
instance of this in animal societies, such as those of the bees, where 
unity or sympathy among the members is only maintained by the 
perception or representation of the queen. 


4. Rational Sympathy' 


As we have no immediate experience of what other men feel, we 
can form no idea of the manner in which they are affected but by 
conceiving what we ourselves should feel in the like situation. Though 
our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are at our ease 
our senses will never inform us of what he suffers. They never did, 
and never can, carry us beyond our own person, and it is by the 
imagination only that we can form any conception of what are his 
sensations. Neither can that faculty help us to this any other way 
than by representing to us what would be our own, if we were in his 
case. It is the impressions of our own senses only, not those of his, 
which our imaginations copy. By the imagination we place ourselves 
in his situation, we conceive ourselves enduring all the same torments, 
we enter as it were into his body and become in some measure the 
same person with him, and thence form some idea of his sensations, 
and even feel something which, though weaker in degree, is not 
altogether unlike them. His agonies, when they are thus brought 
home to ourselves, when we have thus adopted and made them our 
own, begin at last to affect us, and we then tremble and shudder at 
the thought of what he feels. For, as to be in pain or distress of any 
kind excites the most excessive sorrow, so to conceive or to imagine 
that we are in it excites some degree of the same emotion, in propor- 
tion to the vivacity or dulness of the conception. 


t Adapted from Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, pp. 3-10. 
(G. Bell & Sons, 1893.) 


398 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


That this is the source of our fellow-feeling for the misery of others, 
that it is by changing places in fancy with the sufferer that.we come 
either to conceive or to be affected by what he feels, may be demon- 
strated by many obvious observations, if it should not be thought 
sufficiently evident of itself. When we see a stroke aimed, and just 
ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another person, we naturally 
shrink and draw back our own leg or our own arm; and when it does 
fall, we feel it in some measure and are hurt by it as well as the 
sufferer. The mob, when they are gazing-at a dancer on the slack 
rope, naturally writhe and twist and balance their own bodies as they 
see him do, and as they feel that they themselves must do if in his 
situation. Persons of delicate fibers and a weak constitution of 
body complain that in looking on-the sores and ulcers which are 
exposed by beggars in the streets they “are apt to feel an itching or 
uneasy sensation in the corresponding part of their own bodies. ‘The 
horror which they conceive at the misery of those wretches affects 
that particular part in themselves more than any other because that 
horror arises from conceiving what they themselves would suffer if 
they really were the wretches whom they are looking upon, and if 
that particular part in themselves was actually affected in the same 
miserable manner. ‘The very force of this conception is sufficient, 
in their feeble frames, to produce that itching or uneasy sensation 
complained of. Men of the most robust make observe that in look- 
ing upon sore eyes they often feel a very sensible soreness in their 
own, which proceeds from the same reason; that organ, being in the 
strongest man more delicate than any other part of the body, is the 
weakest. 

Upon some occasions sympathy may seem to arise merely from 
the view of a certain emotion in another person. ‘The passions upon 
some occasions may seem to be transfused from one man to another 
instantaneously and antecedent to any knowledge of what excited 
them in the person principally concerned. Grief and joy, for example, 
strongly expressed in the look and gestures of any person at once 
affect the spectator with some degree of a like painful or agreeable. 
emotion. A smiling face is, to everybody that sees it, a cheerful 
object, as a sorrowful countenance, on the other hand, is a melancholy 
one. | 

This, however, does not hold universally, or with regard to every 
passion. ‘There are some passions of which the expressions excite 





SOCIAL INTERACTION 399 


no sort of sympathy, but, before we are acquainted with what gave 
occasion to them, serve rather to disgust and provoke us against 
them. ‘The furious behavior of an angry man is more likely to 
exasperate us against himself than against his enemies. As we are 
unacquainted with his provocation, we cannot bring his case home 
to ourselves, nor conceive anything like the passions which it excites. 
But we plainly see what is the situation of those with whom he is 
angry, and to what violence they may be exposed from so enraged 
an adversary. We readily, therefore, sympathize with their fear or 
resentment, and are immediately disposed to take part against the 
man from whom they appear to be in danger. 

If the very appearances of grief and joy inspire us with some 
degree of the like emotions, it is because they suggest to us the general 
idea of some good or bad fortune that has befallen the person in whom 
we observe them: and in these passions this is sufficient to have 
some little influence upon us. ‘The effects of grief and joy terminate 
in the person who feels these emotions, of which the expressions do 
not, like those of resentment, suggest to us the idea of any other 
person for whom we are concerned and whose interests are opposite 
to his. The general idea of good or bad fortune, therefore, creates 
some concern for the person who has met with it; but the general 
idea of provocation excites no sympathy with the anger of the man 
who has received it. Nature, it seems, teaches us to be more averse 
to enter into this passion, and, till informed of its cause, to be disposed 
rather to take part against it. 

Even our sympathy with the grief or joy of another, before we 
are informed of the cause of either, is always extremely imperfect. 
General lamentations, which express nothing but the anguish of the 
sufferer, create rather a curiosity to inquire into his situation, along 
with some disposition to sympathize with him, than any actual 
sympathy that is very sensible. ‘The first question which we ask is, 
What has befallen you? ‘Till this be answered, though we are 
uneasy both from the vague idea of his misfortune and still more 
from torturing ourselves with conjectures about what it may be, 
yet our fellow-feeling is not very considerable. 

Sympathy, therefore, does not arise so much from the view of 
the passion as from that of the situation which excites it. We some- 
times feel for another a passion of which he himself seems to be alto- 
gether incapable, because, when we put ourselves in his case, that 


400 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


passion arises in our breast from the imagination, though it does 
not in his from the reality. We blush for the impudence and rudeness 
of another, though he himself appears to have no sense of the impro- 
priety of his own behavior, because we cannot help feeling with what 
confusion we ourselves should be covered, had we behaved in so absurd 
a manner, 

Of all the calamities to which the condition of mortality exposes 
mankind, the loss of reason appears, to those who have the least 
spark of humanity, by far the most dreadful; and they behold that 
last stage of human wretchedness with deeper commiseration than 
any other. But the poor wretch who is in it laughs and sings, perhaps, 
and is altogether insensible to his own misery. The anguish which 
humanity feels, therefore, at the sight of such an object cannot be 
the reflection of any sentiment of the sufferer. The compassion of 
the spectator must arise altogether from the consideration of what 
he himself would feel if he was reduced to the same unhappy situation, 
and, what perhaps is impossible, was at the same time able to regard 
it with his present reason and judgment. 

What are the pangs of a mother when she hears the moanings of 
her infant, that, during the agony of disease, cannot express what it 
feels? In her idea of what it suffers, she joins to its real helpless- 
ness her own consciousness of that helplessness and her own terrors 
for the unknown consequences of its disorder; and, out of all these, 
forms for her own sorrow the most complete image of misery and 
distress. The infant, however, feels only the uneasiness of the 
present instant, which can never be great. With regard to the 
future it is perfectly secure in its thoughtlessness and want of anxiety, 
the great tormentors of the human breast, from which reason and 
philosophy will in vain attempt to defend it when it grows up to a 
man. 

But whatever may be the cause of sympathy, or however it may 
be excited, nothing pleases us more than to observe in other men a 
fellow-feeling with all the emotions of our own breast; nor are we 
ever so much shocked as by the appearance of the contrary. Those 
who are fond of deducing all our sentiments from certain refinements of 
self-love think themselves at no loss to account, according to their own 
principles, both for this pleasure and for this pain. Man,.say they, 
conscious of his own weakness and of the need which he has for the 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 401 


assistance of others, rejoices whenever he observes that they adopt 
his own passions because he is then assured of that assistance and 
grieves whenever he observes the contrary, because he is then assured 
of their opposition. But both the pleasure and the pain are always 
felt so instantaneously, and often upon such frivolous occasions, that 
it seems evident that neither of them can be derived from any such 
self-interested consideration. A man is mortified when, after having 
endeavored to divert the company, he looks round and sees that 
nobody laughs at his jests but himself. On the contrary, the mirth 
of the company is highly agreeable to him and he regards this cor- 
respondence of their sentiments with his own as the greatest applause. 


5. Art, Imitation, and Appreciation’ 


The investigation into the psychology of masses, as well as the 
experiments on suggestive therapeutics, have proved to how great 
an extent mental states may be transmitted from individual to 
individual by unconscious imitation of the accompanying movements. 
The doctrine of universal sympathy, a clear statement of which was 
given long ago in the ethical theory of Adam Smith, has thus acquired 
a psychological justification in the modern theories of imitative 
movement. Contemporary science has at last learned to appreciate 
the fundamental importance of imitation for the development of 
human culture. And some authors have even gone so far as to 
endeavor to deduce all. sociological laws from this one principle. At 
the same time natural history has begun to pay more and more 
attention to the indispensability of imitation for the full development 
of instincts, as well as for training in those activities which are the 
most necessary in life. 

It is fortunate for the theory of art that the importance of the 
imitative functions has thus been simultaneously acknowledged in” 
various departments of science. Whatever one may think of the 
somewhat audacious generalizations which have been made in the 
recent application of this new principle, it is incontestable that 
the aesthetic activities can be understood and explained only by refer- 
ence to the universal tendency to imitate. It is also significant that 
writers on aesthetic had felt themselves compelled to set up a theory 

From Yrjé Hirn, The Origins of Ari, pp. 74-85. (Published by The Mac- 
millan Co., 1900. Reprinted by permission.) 


402 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of imitation long before experimental psychologists had begun to 
turn their attention in this direction. In Germany the enjoyment 
of form and form-relations has, since Vischer’s time, been interpreted 
as the result of the movements by which, not only our eye, but also 
our whole body follows the outlines of external things. In France 
Jouffroy stated the condition for the receiving of aesthetic impressions 
to be a “power of internally imitating the states which are externally 
manifested in living nature.”” In England, finally, Vernon Lee and 
Anstruther Thompson have founded a theory of beauty and ugliness 
upon this same psychical impulse to copy in our own unconscious 
movements the forms of objects. And in the writings of, for instance, 
Home, Hogarth, Dugald Stewart, and Spencer, there can be found 
a multitude of isolated remarks on the influence which is in a direct 
way exercised on our mental life by the perception of lines and forms. 

In most of these theories and observations, however, the imitative 
activity has been noticed only in so far as it contributes to the aesthetic 
delight which may be derived from sensual impressions. But its 
importance is by no means so restricted as this; on the contrary, we 
believe it to be a fundamental condition for the existence of intuition 
itself. Without all these imperceptible tracing movements with 
which our body accompanies the adaptation of the eye-muscles to the 
outlines of external objects, our notions of depth, height, and distance, 
and so on, would certainly be far less distinct than they are. On the 
other hand, the habit of executing such movements has, so to say, 
brought the external world within the sphere of the internal. The 
world has been measured with man as a standard, and objects have 
been translated into the language of mental experience. The impres- 
sions have hereby gained, not only in emotional tone, but also in 
intellectual comprehensibility. 

Greater still is the importance of imitation for our intuition of 
moving objects. And a difficult movement itself is fully understood 
only when it has been imitated, either internally or in actual outward 
activity. The idea of a movement, therefore, is generally associated 
with an arrested impulse to perform it. Closer introspection will 
show everyone to how great a part our knowledge, even of persons, 
is built up of motor elements. By unconscious and imperceptible 
copying in our own body the external behavior of a man, we may 
learn to understand him with benevolent or malevolent sympathy. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 403 


‘And it will, no doubt, be admitted by most readers that the reason 
why they know their friends and foes better than they know anyone 
else is that they carry the remembrance of them not only in their 
eyes, but in their whole body. | When in idle moments we find the 
memory of an absent friend surging up in our minds with no apparent 
reason, we may often note, to our astonishment, that we have just 
been unconsciously adopting one of his characteristic attitudes, or 
imitating his peculiar gestures or gait. 

It may, however, be objected that the above-mentioned instances 
refer only to a particular class of individuals. In other minds, it will 
be said, the world-picture is entirely built up of visual and acoustic 
elements. It is also impossible to deny that the classification of 
minds in different types, which modern psychology has introduced, 
is as legitimate as it is advantageous for the purposes of research. 
But we can hardly believe that such divisions have in view anything 
more than a relative predominance of the several psychical elements. 
It is easily understood that a man in whose store of memory visual or 
acoustic images occupy the foremost place may be inclined to deny 
that motor sensations of unconscious copying enter to any extent 
into his psychical experience. But an exclusively visual world- 
image, if such a thing is possible, must evidently be not onty emo- 
tionally poorer, but also intellectually less distinct and less complete, 
than an intuition, in which such motor elements are included. 

The importance of motor sensations in the psychology of knowl- 
edge is by itself of no aesthetic interest. The question has been 
touched upon in this connection only because of the illustration 
which it gives to the imitation theory. If, as we believe is the case, 
it is really necessary, for the purpose of acquiring a complete com- 
prehension of things and events, to “experience”? them—that is to 
say, to pursue and seize upon them, not only with that particular 
organ of sense to which they appeal, but also by tracing movements 
of the whole body—then there is no need to wonder at the universality 
of the imitative impulse. Imitation does not only, according to this 
view, facilitate our training in useful activities, and aid us in deriving 
an aesthetic delight from our sensations; it serves also, and perhaps 
primarily, as an expedient for the accommodating of ourselves to the 
external world, and for the explaining of things by reference to our- 
selves. It is therefore natural that imitative movements should 


404 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


occupy so great a place among the activities of children and primitive - 
men. And we can also understand why this fundamental impulse, 
which has played so important a part in racial as well as in individual 
education, may become so great as to be a disease and dominate the 
whole of conscious life. As children we all imitated before we com- 
prehended, and we have learned to comprehend by imitating. It is 
only when we have grown familiar by imitation with the most impor- 
tant data of perception that we become capable of appropriating 
knowledge in a more rational way. Although no adult has any need 
to resort to external imitation in order to comprehend new impres- 
sions, it is still only natural that in a pathological condition he should 
relapse into the primitive imitative reaction. And it is equally 
natural that an internal, i.e., arrested, imitation should take place 
in all our perceptions. After this explanation of the universality of 
this phenomenon we have no further need to occupy ourselves with 
the general psychology of imitation. We have here only to take 
notice of its importance for the communication of feeling. 

As is well known, it is only in cases of abnormally increased 
sensibility—for instance, in some of the stages of hypnotism and 
thought transmission—that the motor counterpart of a mental state 
can be imitated with such faithfulness and completeness that the 
imitator is thereby enabled to partake of all the intellectual elements 
of the state existing in another. The hedonic qualities, on the other 
hand, which are physiologically conditioned by much simpler motor 
counterparts, may of course be transmitted with far greater per- 
fection: it is easier to suggest a pleasure than a thought. It is also 
evident that it is the most general hedonic and volitional elements 
which have been considered by the German authors on aesthetic in 
their theories on internal imitation (‘‘Die innere Nachahmung’’). 
They seem to have thought that the adoption of the attitudes and 
the performance of the movements which usually accompany a given 
emotional state will also succeed to some extent in producing & similar 
emotional state. This assumption is perfectly legitimate, even if the 
connection between feeling and movement be interpreted in the asso- 
Ciative way. And it needs no justification when the motor changes 
are considered as the physiological correlate of the feeling itself. 

Everyday experience affords many examples of the way in which 
feelings are called into existence by the imitation of their expressive 





SOCIAL INTERACTION 405 


movements. A child repeats the smiles and the laughter of its 
parents, and can thus partake of their joy long before it is able to 
understand its cause. Adult life naturally does not give us many 
opportunities of observing this pure form of direct and almost auto- 
matic transmission. But even in adult life we may often meet with an 
exchange of feeling which seems almost independent of any intelfectual 
communication. Lovers know it, and intimate friends like the 
brothers Goncourt, to say nothing of people who stand in so close a 
rapport with each other as a hypnotiser and his subject. And even 
where there is no previous sympathetic relation, a state of joy or 
sadness may often, if it is only distinctly expressed, pass over, so to 
say, from the individual who has been under the influence of its 
objective cause, to another who, as it were, borrows the feeling, but 
remains unconscious of its cause. We experience this phenomenon 
almost daily in the influence exerted upon us by social intercourse, 
and even by those aspects of nature—for instance, blue open sky or 
overhanging mountains—which naturally call up in us the physical 
manifestation of emotional states. The coercive force with which 
our surroundings—animate or inanimate—compel us to adopt the 
feelings which are suggested by their attitudes, forms, or movements, 
is perhaps as a rule too weak to be noticed by a self-controlled, unemo- 
tional man. But if we want an example of this influence at its 
strongest, we need but remember how difficult it is for an individual 
to resist the contagion of collective feeling. On public occasions the 
common mood, whether of joy or sorrow, is often communicated 
even to those who were originally possessed by the opposite feeling. 
So powerful is the infection of great excitement that—according to 
M. Féré—even a perfectly sober man who takes part in a drinking 
bout may often be tempted to join in the antics of his drunken com- 
rades in a sort of second-hand intoxication, ‘drunkenness by induc- 
tion.” In the great mental epidemics of the Middle Ages this kind 
of contagion operated with more fatal results than ever before or 
afterward. But even in modern times a popular street riot may 
often show us something of the same phenomenon. ‘The great tumult 
in London in 1886 afforded, it is said, a good opportunity of observing 
how people who had originally maintained an indifferent attitude 
were gradually carried away by the general excitement, even to the 
extent of joining in the outrages. In this instance the contagious 


406 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


effect of expressional movements was undoubtedly facilitated by 
their connection with so primary an impulse as that of rapine and 
destruction. But the case is the same with all the activities which 
appear as the outward manifestations of our strongest feeling-states. 
They all consist of instinctive actions with which everyone is well 
familiar from his own experience. It is therefore natural that anger, 
hate, or love may be communicated almost automatically from an 
individual to masses, and from masses to individuals. 

Now that the principle of the interindividual diffusion of feeling 
has been stated and explained, we may return to our main line of 
research and examine its bearings on the expressional impulse. We 
have seen that in the social surroundings of the individual there is 
enacted a process resembling that which takes place within his own 
organism. Just as functional modifications spread from organ to 
organ, just as wider and wider zones of the system are brought into 
participation in the primary enhancement or inhibition, so a feeling 
is diffused from an individual to a circle of sympathisers who repeat 
its expressional movements. And just as all the widened ‘“‘somatic 
resonances’’ contribute to the primary feeling-tone increased strength 
and increased definiteness, so must the-emotional state of an individual 
be enhanced by retroactive stimulation from the expressions by which 
the state has, so to say, been continued in others. By the reciprocal 
action of primary movements and borrowed movements, which 
mutually imitate each other, the social expression operates in the 
same way as the individual expression. And we are entitled to 
consider it as a secondary result of the general expressional impulse, 
that when mastered by an overpowering feeling we seek enhance- 
ment or relief by retroaction from sympathisers, who reproduce 
and in their expression represent the mental state by which we are 
dominated. , 

In point of fact, we can observe in the manifestations of all strong 
feelings which have not found a satisfactory relief in individual 
expression, a pursuit of social resonance. A happy man wants to 
see glad faces around him, in order that_from their expression he may 
derive further nourishment and increase for his own feeling. Hence 
the benevolent attitude of mind which as a rule accompanies all 
strong and pure joy. Hence also the widespread tendency to express 
joy by gifts or hospitality. In moods of depression we similarly 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 407 


desire a response to our feeling from our surroundings. In the depth 
of despair we may long for a universal cataclysm to extend, as it 
were, our own pain. As joy naturally makes men good, so pain 
often makes them hard and cruel. ‘That this is not always the case 
is a result of the increased power of sympathy which we gain by every 
experienced pain. Moreover, we have need of sympathetic rapport 
for our motor reactions against pain. All the active manifestations 
of sorrow, despair, or anger which are not wholly painful in them- 
selves are facilitated by the reciprocal influence of collective excite- 
ment. ‘Thus all strong feelings, whether pleasurable or painful, act 
as socialising factors. ‘This socialising action may be observed at 
all stages of development. Even the animals seek their fellows in 
order to stimulate themselves and each other by the common expres- 
sion of an overpowering feeling. As has been remarked by Espinas, 
the flocking together of the male birds during the pairing season is 
perhaps as much due to this craving for mutual stimulation as to 
the desire to compete for the favor of the hen. The howling choirs 
of the macaws and the drum concerts of the chimpanzees are still 
better and unmistakable instances of collective emotional expression. 
In man we find the results of the same craving for social expression in 
the gatherings for rejoicing or mourning which are to be met with in 
all tribes, of all degrees of development. And as a still higher devel- 
opment of the same fundamental impulse, there appears in man the 
artistic activity. 

The more conscious our craving for retroaction from sympathisers, 
the more there must also be developed in us a conscious endeavor 
to cause the feeling to be appropriated by as many as possible and as 
completely as possible. The expressional impulse is not satisfied by 
the resonance which an occasional public, however sympathetic, is 
able to afford. Its natural aim is to bring more and more sentient 
beings under the influence of the same emotional state. It seeks to 
vanquish the refractory and arouse the indifferent. An echo, a true 
and powerful echo—that is what it desires with all the energy. of an 
unsatisfied longing. As a result of this craving the expressional 
activities lead to artistic production. The work of art presents 
itself as the most effective means by which the individual is enabled 
to convey to wider and wider circles of sympathisers an emotional 
state similar to that by which he is himself dominated. 


408 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


E. SUGGESTION 


1. A Sociological Definition of Suggestion’ 


The nature of suggestion manifestly consists not in any external 
peculiarities whatever. It is based upon the peculiar kind of relation 
of the person making the suggestion to the “ego’’ of the subject 
during the reception and realization of the suggestion. 

Suggestion is, in general, one of many means of influence of 
man on man that is exercised with or without intention on persons, 
who respond either consciously or unconsciously. | 

For a closer acquaintance with what we call “suggestion,” it 
may be observed that our perceptive activities are divided into (a) 
active, and (0) passive. 

a) Active perception.—In the first case the “‘ego”’ of the subject 
necessarily takes a part, and according to the trend of our thinking 
or to the environmental circumstances directs the attention to these 
or those external impressions. These, since they enter the mind 
through the participation of attention and will and through reflection 
and judgment, are assimilated and permanently incorporated in the 
personal consciousness or in our ‘“‘ego.” This type of perception 
leads to an enrichment of our verse consciousness and lies at 
the bottom of our points of view and convictions.. The organization 
of more or less definite convictions is the product of the process of 
reflection instituted by active perception. ‘These convictions, before 
they become the possession of our personal consciousness, may 
conceal themselves awhile in the so-called subconsciousness. They 
are capable of being aroused at any moment at the desire of the 
‘“‘ego”’ whenever certain experienced representations are reproduced. 

b) Passive perception—In contrast to active perception we 
perceive much from the environment in a passive manner without 
that participation of the ‘‘ego.”” This occurs when our attention is 
diverted in any particular direction or concentrated _on_a_ certain 
thought, and when its continuity for one or another reason is broken 
up, which, for instance, occurs in cases of so-called distraction. In 
these cases the object of the perception does not “entér into the 
personal consciousness, but it makes its way into other spheres of 


t Translated and adapted from the German, Die Bedeutung der Suggestion 
im Sozialen Leben, pp. 10-15, from the Griginal Russian of W. v. Bechterew. | 
(J. F. Bergmann, Wiesbaden, 1905.) 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 409 


our mind, which we call the general consciousness. The general 
consciousness is to a certain degree independent of the personal 
consciousness. For this reason everything that enters into the 
general consciousness cannot be introduced at will into the personal 
consciousness. Nevertheless products of the general consciousness 
m j into the sphere of the personal consciousness, without 
awareness by it of their original derivation. 

In passive, perception, without any participation of attention, 
a whole series of varied impressions flow in upon us and press in past 
our ‘‘ego”’ directly to the general consciousness. These impressions 
are the sources of those influences from the outer world so unintelligible 
even to ourselves, which determine our emotional attitudes and those 
obscure motives and impulses which often possess us in certain 
situations. . 

The general consciousness, in this way, plays a permanent réle 
in the spiritual life of the individual. Now and then an impression 
passively received in the train of an accidental chain of ideas makes 
its way into the sphere of the personal consciousness as a mental 
image, whose novelty astounds us. In specific cases this image or 
illusion takes the form of a peculiar voice, a vision, or even a 
hallucination, whose origin undoubtedly lies in the general con- 
sciousness. When the personal consciousness is in abeyance, as in 
sleep or in profound hypnosis, the activity of the general conscious- 
ness comes into the foreground. The activity of the general 
consciousness is limited neither by our ways of viewing things nor 
by the conditions under which the personal consciousness operates. 
On this account, in a dream and in profound hypnosis acts appear 
feasible and possible which with our full personal consciousness we 
would not dare to contemplate. 

This division of our mind into a personal and a general con- 
sciousness affords a basis for a clear understanding of the principles 
of suggestion. The personal consciousness, the so-called ‘‘ego,” 
aided by the will and attention, largely controls the reception of 
external impressions/ influences the trend of our ideas, and deter- 
mines the execution of our voluntary behavior. Every impression 
that the personal consciousness transmits to the mind is usually 
subject to a definite criticism and remodeling which results in the 
development of our points of view and of our convictions. 








oe 
ae 


410 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


This mode of influence from the outer world upon our mind is 
that of “logical conviction.” As the final result of that inner recon- 
struction of impressions appears always the conviction: “This is 
true, that useful, inevitable, etc.”’ We can say this inwardly when 
any reconstruction of the impressions has been effected in us through 
the activity of the personal consciousness. Many impressions get 
into our mind without our remarking them. In case of distraction, 
when our voluntary attention is in abeyance, the impression from 
without evades our personal consciousness and enters the mind with- 
out coming into contact with the “ego.” Not through the front 
door, but—so to speak—up the back steps, it gets, in this case, directly 
into the inner rooms of the soul. 

Suggestion may now be defined_as the direct infection of one 

(Person by another of certain mental states. In other words, sugges- 
tion is the penetration or inoculation of a strange idea into the 
consciousness, without direct immediate participation of the “ego” 
of the subject. Moreover, the personal consciousness in general 
appears quite incapable of rejecting the suggestion, even when the 
“ego” detects its irrationality. Since the suggestion enters the mind 
without the active aid of the “ego,” it remains outside the borders 
of the personal consciousness. All further effects of the suggestion, 
therefore, take place without the control of the “ego.” 

By the term suggestion we do not usually understand the effect 
upon the mind of the totality of external stimuli, but the influence 
of person upon person which takes place through passive perception 
and is therefore independent of the activity of the personal conscious- 
ness. Suggestion is, moreover, to be distinguished from the other 
type of influences operating through mental processes of attention 
and the participation of the personal consciousness, which result in 
logical convictions and the development of definite points of view. 

Loewenfeld emphasized a distinction between the actual process 
of “suggesting” and its result, which one simply calls “suggestion.” 
It is self-evident that these are two different processes, which should 
not be mistaken for each other. A more adequate definition might 
be accepted, which embraces at once the characteristic manner of 
the ‘“‘suggesting,” and the result of its activity. | 

Therefore for suggestion it is not alone the process itself that is 
characteristic, or the kind of psychic influence, but also the result 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 4iI 


of this reaction. For that reason I do not understand under “sug- 
gesting”’ alone a definite sort and manner or influence upon man but 
at the same time the eventual result of it; and under “suggestion” 
not only a definite psychical result but to a certain degree also the 
manner in which this result was obtained. 

An essential element of the concept of suggestion is, first of all, 
a pronounced directness of action. Whether a suggestion takes 
place through words or through attitudes, impressions, or acts, 
whether it is a case of a Vérbal or of a € suggestion, makes 
no difference here so long as its effect is never obtained through 
logical conviction. On the other hand, the suggestion is always 
immediately directed to the mind by evading the personal conscious- 
ness, or at least without previous recasting by the “ego” of the 
subject. This process represents a real infection of ideas, feelings, 
emotions, or other psychophysical states. 

In the same manner there arise somewhat similar mental states 
known as autosuggestion. These do not require an external influ- 
ence for their appearance but originate immediately in the mind 
itself. Such is the case, for instance, when any sort of an image 
forces itself into the consciousness as something complete, whether 
it is in the form of an idea that suddenly emerges and dominates 
consciousness, or a vision, a premonition, or the like. 

In all these cases psychic influences which have arisen without 
external stimulus have directly inoculated the mind, thereby evading 
the criticism of the “ego” or of personal consciousness. 

“Suggesting ”’ signifies, therefore, to inoculate the mind of a person 
more or less directly with ideas, feelings, emotions, and other 
psychical states, in order that no opportunity is left for criticism 
and consideration. Under “suggestion,” on the other hand, is to 
be understood that sort of direct inoculation of the mind of an 
individual with ideas, feelings, emotions,.and other psychophysical 
states which evade his ‘‘ego,” his personal self-consciousness, and 
his critical attitude. 

Now and then, especially in the French writers, one will find 
besides ‘‘suggestion” the term “psychic contagion,” under which, 
however, nothing further than involuntary imitation is to be under- 
stood (compare A. Vigouroux and P. Juquelier, La contagion mentale, 
Paris, 1905). If one takes up the conception of suggestion in a wider 


412 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


sense, and considers by it the possibility of involuntary suggestion 
in the way of example and imitation, one will find that the conceptions 
of suggestion and of psychic contagion depend upon each other most 
intimately, and to a great extent are not definitely to be distinguished 
from each other. In any case, it is to be maintained that a strict 
boundary between psychic contagion and suggestion does not always 
exist, a fact which Vigouroux and Juquelier in their paper have rightly 
emphasized. 
2. The Subtler Forms of Suggestion’ 


In one very particular respect hypnotism has given us a lesson 


Vof the greatest importance to psychology: it has proved that special 


precautionary measures must be taken in planning psychological 
experiments. The training of hypnotics has thrown light on this 
source of error. A hypnotizer may, often without knowing it, by 
the tone of his voice or by some slight movement cause the hypnotic 
to exhibit phenomena that at first could only be produced by explicit 
verbal suggestion, and that altogether the signs used by the hypnotizer 
to cause suggestions may go on increasing in delicacy. A dangerous 
source of error is provided by the hypnotic’s endeavor to divine 
and obey the experimenter’s intentions. ‘This observation has also 
proved useful in non-hypnotic experiments. We certainly knew 
before the days of hypnotism that the signs by which A betrays his 
thoughts to B may gradually become more delicate. | We see this, for 
example, in the case of the schoolboy, who gradually learns how to 
detect from the slightest movement made by his master whether 
the answer he gave was right or not. We find the same sort of thing 
in the training of animals—the horse, for instance, in which the 
rough methods at first employed are gradually toned down until in 
the end an extremely slight movement made by the trainer produces 
the same effect that the rougher movements did originally. But 
even if this lessening in the intensity of the signals exists independently 
of hypnosis, it is the latter that has shown us how easily neglect of 
this factor may lead to erroneous conclusions being drawn. The 
suggestibility of the hypnotic makes these infinitesimal signals 
specially dangerous in his case. But when once this danger was 
recognized, greater attention was paid to this source of error in 


* Adapted from Albert Moll, Hypnotism, pp. 453-57. The Contemporary 
Science Series. (Walter Scott, 1909.) 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 413 


non-hypnotic cases than before. It is certain that many psychological 
experiments are vitiated by the fact that the subject knaws what 
the experimenter wishes. Results are thus brought about that can 
only be looked upon as the effects of suggestion; they do not depend 
on the external conditions of the experiment but on what is passing 
in the mind of the subject. 

An event which at the time of its occurrence created a consider- 
able commotion (I refer to the case of Clever Hans), will show how 
far we may be led by neglecting the above lesson taught us by hyp- 
notism. If the Berlin psychologist Stumpf, the scientific director of 
the committee of investigation, had but taken into consideration the 
teachings of hypnotism, he would never have made the fiasco of 
admitting that the horse, Clever Hans, had been educated like a boy, 
not trained like an animal. 

Clever Hans answered questions by tapping his hoof on the stage; 
and the observers, more particularly the committee presided over 
by Stumpf, believed that answers tapped out were the result of due 
deliberation on the part of the horse, exactly as spiritists believe that 
the spirits hold intelligent intercourse with them by means of “‘raps.”’ 
One tap denoted a. two taps ), three taps ¢, etc.; or, where numbers 
were concerned, one tap signified 1, two taps 2, etc. In this way 
the animal answered the most complicated questions. For instance, 
it apparently not only solved such problems as 3 times 4 by tapping 
12 times, and 6 times 3 by tapping 18 times, but even extracted 
square roots, distinguished between concords and discords, also be- 
tween ten different colors, and was able to recognize the photographs 
of people; altogether, Clever Hans was supposed to be at that time 
about upon a level with fifth-form boys (the fifth form is the lowest 
form but one in a German gymnasium). After investigating the 
matter, Stumpf and the members of his committee drew up the fol- 
lowing conjoint report, according to which only one of two things 
was possible—either the horse could think and calculate independ- 
ently, or else he was under telepathic, perhaps occult, influence: 


The undersigned met together to decide whether there was any trickery 
in the performance given by Herr v. Osten with his horse, i.e., whether the 
latter was helped or influenced intentionally. As the result of the 
exhaustive tests employed, they have come to the unanimous conclusion 
that, apart from the personal character of Herr v. Osten, with which most 


414 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of them were well acquainted, the precautions taken during the investigation 
altogether precluded any such assumption. Notwithstanding the most 
careful observation, they were well unable to detect any gestures, move- 
ments, or other intimations that might serve as signs to the horse. To 
exclude the possible influence of involuntary movements on the part of 
spectators, a series of experiments was carried out solely in the presence of 
Herr Busch, councilor of commissions. In some of these experiments, 
tricks of the kind usually employed by trainers were, in his judgment as 
an expert, excluded. Another series of experiments was so arranged that 
Herr v. Osten himself could not know the answer to the question he was 
putting to the horse. From previous personal observations, moreover, 
the majority of the undersigned knew of numerous individual cases in which 
other persons had received correct answers in the momentary absence of 
Herr v. Osten and Herr Schillings. These cases also included some in which 
the questioner was either ignorant of the solution or only had an erroneous 
notion of what it should be. Finally, some of the undersigned have a 
personal knowledge of Herr v. Osten’s method, which is essentially different 
from ordinary “training” and is copied from the system of instruction 
employed in primary schools. In the opinion of the undersigned, the col- 
lective results of these observations show that even unintentional signs 
of the kind at present known were excluded. It is their unanimous opinion 
that we have here to deal with a case that differs in principle from all former 
and apparently similar cases; that it has nothing to do with “training” 
in the accepted sense of the word, and that it is consequently deserving of 
earnest and searching scientific investigation. Berlin, September 12, 1904. 
[Here follow the signatures, among which is that of Privy Councilor Dr. C. 
Stumpf, university professor, director of the Psychological Institute, 
member of the Berlin Academy of Sciences.] 


Anyone who has done critical work in the domain of hypnotism 
after the manner insisted on by the Nancy school cannot help con- 
sidering Stumpf’s method of investigation erroneous from the very 
outset. A first source of error that had to be considered was that 
someone present—it might have been Herr v. Osten or it might have 
been anyone else—unintentionally had given the horse a sign when 
to stop tapping. It cannot be considered sufficient, as stated in 
Stumpf’s report, that Herr v. Osten did not know the answer; no 
one should be present who knows it. This is the first condition to 
be fulfilled when making such experiments. Anybody who has been 
engaged in training hypnotized subjects knows that these insignificant 
signs constitute one of the chief sources of error. Some of the leading 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 415 


modern investigators in the domain of hypnotism—Charcot and 
Heidenhain, for instance—were misled by them at the time they 
thought they had discovered new physical reflexes in hypnosis. But 
in 1904, by which time suggestion had been sufficiently investigated 
to prevent such an occurrence, a psychologist should not have fallen 
into an error that had been sufficiently made more than twenty years 
previously. But the main point is this: signs that are imperceptible 
to others are nevertheless perceived by a subject trained to do so, 
no matter whether that subject be a human being or an animal. 


3. Social Suggestion and Mass or “‘Corporate’’ Action! 


In most cases the crowd naturally is under leaders, who, with an 
instinctive consciousness of the importance and strength of the crowd, 
seek to direct it much more through the power of suggestion than by 
sound conviction. 

It is conceivable, therefore, that anyone who understands how to 
arrest the attention of the crowd, may always influence it to do great 
deeds, as history, indeed, sufficiently witnesses. One may recall 
from the history of Russia Minin, who with a slogan saved his native 
land from the gravest danger. His “Pawn your wife and child, and 
free your fatherland” necessarily acted as a powerful suggestion on 
the already intense crowd. How the crowd and its sentiments may 
be controlled is indicated in the following account by Boris Sidis: 


On the 11th of August, 1895, there took place in the open air a meeting 
at Old Orchard, Maine. The business at hand was a collection for mis- 
sionary purposes. The preacher resorted to the following suggestions: 
““The most remarkable remembrance which I have of foreign lands is that 
of multitudes, the waves of lost humanity who ceaselessly are shattered on 
the shores of eternity. How despairing are they, how poor in love——their 
religion knows no joy, no pleasure, nor song. Once I heard a Chinaman 
say why he was a Christian. It seemed to him that he lay in a deep abyss, 
out of which he could not escape. Have you ever wept for the sake of the 
lost world, as did Jesus Christ? If not, then woe to you. Your religion 
is then only a dream and a blind. We see Christ test his disciples. Will 
he take them with him? My beloved, today he will test you. [Indirect 


* Translated and adapted from the German, Die Bedeutung der Suggestion im 
Sozialen Leben, pp. 134-42, from the original Russian of W.v. Bechterew. (Wies- 
baden: J. F. Bergmann, 1905.) 





416 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


suggestion.] He could convert a thousand millionaires, but he gives you 
an opportunity to be saved. [More direct suggestion.] Are you strong 
enough in faith? [Here follows a discussion about questions of faith.] 
Without faith God can do no great things. I believe that Jesus will appear 
to them who believe firmly in him. My dear ones, if only you give for 
the sake of God, you have become participants in the faith. [Still more 
direct suggestion.| The youth with the five loaves and the two little 
fishes [the story follows]. When everything was ended, he did not lose 
his loaves; there were twelve baskets left over. O my dear ones, how will 
that return! Sometime the King of Kings will call to you and give you 
an empire of glory, and simply because you have had a little faith in him. 
It is a day of much import to you. Sometime God will show us how much 
better he has guarded our treasure than we ourselves.” The sugges- 
tion had the desired effect. Money streamed from all sides; hundreds 
became thousands, tens of thousands. The crowd gave seventy thousand 
dollars. 


Of analogous importance are the factors of suggestions in wars, 
where the armies go to brilliant victories. Discipline and the sense 
of duty unite the troops into a single mighty giant’s body. To 
develop its full strength, however, this body needs some inspiration 
through a suggested idea, which finds an active echo in the hearts 
of the soldiers. Maintenance of the warlike spirit in decisive moments 
is one of the most important problems for the ingenious general. 

Even when the last ray of hope for victory seems to have dis- 
appeared, the call of an honored war chief, like a suggestive spark, 
may fire the hosts. to self-sacrifice and heroism. <A trumpet signal, 
a cry “hurrah,” the melody of the national hymn, can here at the 
decisive moment have incalculable effects. There is no need to recall 
the réle of the ‘‘Marsellaise”’ in the days of the French Revolution. 
The agencies of suggestion in such cases make possible, provided 
that they are only able to remove the feeling of hopelessness, results 
which a moment before are neither to be anticipated nor expected. 
Where will and the sense of duty alone seem powerless, the mech- 
anisms of suggestion may develop surprising effects. 

Excited masses are, it is well known, capable of the most inhuman 
behavior, and indeed for the very reason that, instead of sound logic, 
automatism and impulsiveness have entered in as direct results of 
suggestion. ‘The modern barbarities of the Americans in the shape 
of lynch law for criminals or those who are only under a suspicion of 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 417 


a crime redound to the shame of the land of freedom, but find their 
full explanation in that impulsiveness of the crowd which knows no 
mercy. 

The multitude can, therefore, ever be led according to the 
content of the ideas suggested to it, as well to sublime and noble 
deeds as, on the other hand, to expressions of the lower and barbaric 
instincts. That is the art of manipulating the masses. 

It is a mistake to regard popular assemblies who have adopted 
a certain uniform idea simply as a sum of single elements, as is now 
and then attempted. For one is dealing in such cases, not with 
accidental, but with actual psychical, processes of fusion, which 
reciprocal suggestion is to a high degree effective in establishing and 
maintaining. ‘The aggressiveness of the st elements of the mass 
arrives in this at their high point at one amd the same time, and 
with complete spiritual unanimity the mass can now act as one man; 
it moves, then, like one enormous social body, which unites in itself 
the thoughts and feelings of all by the very fact that there is a temper 
of mind common to all. Easily, however, as the crowd is excited. 
to the highest degrees of activity, as quickly—indeed, much more 
quickly—does it allow itself, as we have already seen, to be dispersed 
by a panic. Here too the panic rests entirely on suggestion, contra- 
suggestion, and the instinct of imitation, not on logic and conviction. 
Automatism, not intelligence, is the moving factor therein. 

Other, but quite generally favorable, conditions for suggestions 
are universally at hand in the human society, whose individual mem- 
bers in contrast to the crowd are physically separated from each 
other but stand in a spiritual alliance to each other. Here obviously 
those-preliminary conditions for the dissemination of psychical infec- 
tions are lacking as they exist in the crowd, and the instruments of 
the voice, of mimicry, of gestures, which often fire the passions with 
lightning rapidity, are not allowed to assert themselves. There 
exists much rather a certain spiritual cohesion on the ground perhaps 
of common impressions (theatrical representations), a similar direc- 
tion of thoughts (articles in periodicals, etc.). These conditions are 
quite sufficient to prepare the foundation on which similar feelings 
propagate themselves from individual to individual by the method 
of suggestion and autosuggestion, and similar decisions for many are 
matured. 


418 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Things occur here more slowly, more peacefully, without those 
passionate outbreaks to which the crowd is subjected; but this slow 
infection establishes itself all the more surely in the feelings, while 
the infection of the crowd often only continues for a time until the 
latter is broken up. | 

Moreover, such contagious examples in the public do not usually 
lead to such unexpected movements as they easily induce in the crowd. 
But here, too. the infection frequently acts in defiance of a man’s 
sound intelligence; complete points of view are accepted upon trust 
and faith, without further discussion, and frequently immature reso- 
lutions are formed. On the boards representing the stage of the world 
there are ever moving idols, who after the first storm of admiration 
which they call out, sink back into oblivion. The fame of the people’s 
leaders maintains itself in quite the same way by means of psychical 
infection through the similar national interest of a unified group. It 
has often happened that their brightness was extinguished with the 
first opposition which the masses saw setting its face against their 
wishes and ideals. What we, however, see in close popular masses 
recurs to a certain degree in every social milieu, in every larger society. 

Between the single elements of such social.spheres there occur 
uninterrupted psychical infections and contra-infections. Ever 
according to the nature of the material of the infection that has 
been received, the individual feels himself attracted to the sublime 
and the noble, or to the lower and bestial. Is, then, the intercourse 
between teacher and pupil, between friends, between lovers, unin- 
fluenced by reciprocal suggestion? Suicide pacts and other mutual 
acts present a certain participation of interacting suggestion. Yet 
more. Hardly a single deed whatever occurs that stands out over 
the everyday, hardlv a crime is committed, without the concurrence 
of third persons, direct or indirect, not unseldom bearing a likeness 
to the effects of suggestion. 

We must here admit that Tarde was right when he said that it 
is less difficult to find crimes of the crowd than to discover crimes 
which were not such and which would indicate no sort of promotion 
or participation of the environment. That is true to such a degree 
that one may ask whether there are any individual crimes at all, as 
the question is also conceivable whether there are any works of genius 
which do not have a collective character. ' 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 419 


Many believe that crimes are always pondered. A closer insight 
into the behavior of criminals testifies, however, in many cases that 
even when there is a long period of indecision, a single encouraging 
word from the environment, an example with a suggestive effect, is 
quite sufficient to scatter all considerations and to bring the criminal 
intention to the deed. In organized societies, too, a mere nod from 
the chief may often lead with magic power to a crime. 

The ideas, efforts, and behavior of the individual may by no means 
be looked on as something sharply distinct, individually peculiar, 
since from the form and manner of these ideas, efforts, and behavior, 
there shines forth ever, more or less, the influence of the milieu. 

In close connection with this fact there stands also the so-called 
astringent effect of the milieu upon the individuals who are incapable 
of rising out of their environment, of stepping out of it. In society 
that bacillus for which one has found the name “‘suggestion” appears 
certainly as a leveling element, and, accordingly, whether the indi- 
vidual stands higher or lower than his environment, whether he 
becomes worse or better under its influence, he always loses or gains 
something from the contact with others. This is the basis of the 
great importance of suggestion as a factor in imposing a social uni- 
formity upon individuals. 

The power of suggestion and contra-suggestion, however, extends 
yet further. It enhances sentiments and aims and enkindles the 
activity of the masses to an unusual degree. 

Many historical personages who knew how to embody in them- 
selves the emotions and the desires of the masses—we may think of 
Jeanne d’Arc, Mahomet, Peter the Great, Napoleon I—were sur- 
rounded with a nimbus by the more or less blind belief of the people 
in their genius; this frequently acted with suggestive power upon 
the surrounding company which it carried away with a magic force 
to its leaders, and supported and aided the mission historically vested 
in the latter by means of their spiritual superiority. A nod from a 
beloved leader of any army is sufficient to enkindle anew the courage 
of the regiment and to lead them irresistibly into sure death. 

Many, it is well known, are still inclined to deny the individual 
personality any influence upon the course of historic events. The 
individual is to them only an expression of the views of the mass, an 
embodiment of the epoch, something, therefore, that cannot actively 


420 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


strike at the course of history; he is much rather himself heaved up 
out of the mass by historic events, which, unaffected by the individual, 
proceed in the courses they have themselves chosen. 

We forget in such a theory the influences of the suggestive factors 
which, independently of endowments and of energy, appear as a 
mighty lever in the hands of the fortunately situated nature and of 
those created to be the rulers of the masses. That the individual 
reflects his environment and his time, that the events of world- 
history only take their course upon an appropriately prepared basis 
and under appropriately favorable circumstances, no one will deny. 
There rests, however, in the masters of speech and writing, in the 
demagogues and the favorites of the people, in the great generals and 
statesmen, an inner power which welds together the masses for 
battle for an ideal, sweeps them away to heroism, and fires them to 
do deeds which leave enduring impressions in the history of humanity. 

I believe, therefore, that suggestion as an active agent should 
be the object of the most attentive study for the historians and the 
sociologists. Where this factor is not reckoned with, a whole series 
of historical and social phenomena is threatened with the danger of 
incomplete, insufficient, and perhaps even incorrect elucidation. 


Ill. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. The Process of Interaction 


The concept of universal interaction was first formulated in 
philosophy. Kant listed community or reciprocity; among his 
dynamic categories. In the Herbartian theory of a world of coexist- 
ing individuals, the notion of reciprocal action was central. The 
distinctive contribution of Lotze was his recognition that interaction of 
the parts implies the unity of the whole since external action implies 
internal changes in the interacting objects. Ormond in his book 
The Foundations of Knowledge completes this philosophical conception 
by embodying in it a conclusion based on social psychology. Just 
as society is constituted by interacting persons whose innermost 
nature, as a result of interaction, 1s internatto each, so the universe 
is constituted by the totality of interacting units internally predis- 
posed to interaction as elements and products of the process. 7 

In sociology, Gumplowicz arrived at the notions of a “natural 
social process” and of ‘‘reciprocal action of heterogeneous elements” 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 421 


in his study of the conflict of races. Ratzenhofer, Simmel, and Small 
place the social process and socialization central in their systems of 
sociology. Cooley’s recent book The Social Process is an intimate 
and sympathetic exposition of “‘interaction”’ and the “social process.” 
“Society is a complex of forms or processes each of which is living 
and growing by interaction with the others, the whole being so unified 
that what takes place in one part affects all the rest. It is a vast tissue 
of reciprocal activity, differentiated into innumerable systems, some 
of them quite distinct, others not readily traceable, and all interwoven 
to such a degree that you see different systems according to the point 
of view you take.’’! 

This brief résumé of the general literature upon the social process 
and social interaction is introductory to an examination of the more 
concrete material upon communication, imitation, and suggestion. 


2. Communication 


“Many works have been written on Expression, but a greater 
number on Physiognomy” wrote Charles Darwin in 1872. Physiog- 
nomy, or the interpretation of character through the observation of 
the features, has lung been relegated by the scientific world to the 
limbo occupied by astrology, alchemy, phrenology, and the practice 
of charlatans. ! 

While positive contributions to an appreciation of human expres- 
sion were made before Darwin, as by Sir Charles Bell, Pierre Gratiolet, 
and Dr. Piderit, his volume on The Expression of the Emotions in 
Man and Animals marked an epoch in the thinking upon the subject. 
Although his three principles of utility, antithesis, and direct nervous 
discharge to explain the signs of emotions may be open to question, 
as the physiological psychologist, Wilhelm Wundt, asserts, the great 
value of his contribution is generally conceded. His convincing 
demonstration of the universal similarity of emotional expression 
in the various human races, a similarity based on a common human 
inheritance, prepared the way for further study. 

Darwin assumed that the emotion was a mental state which 
preceded and caused its expression. According to the findings of 
later observation, popularly known as the James-Lange Theory, the 


t The Social Process, p. 28. 


422 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


emotion is the mental sign of a behavior change whose external 
aspects constitute the so-called ‘“‘expression.”’ The important point 
brought out by this new view of the emotion was an emphasis upon 
the nature of physiological changes involved in emotional response. 
Certain stimuli affect visceral processes and thereby modify the per- 
ception of external objects. 

The impetus to research upon this subject given by Darwin was 
first manifest in the reports of observation upon the expression of 
different emotions. Fear, anger, joy, were made the subjects of 
individual monographs. Several brilliant essays, as those by Sully, 
Dugas, and Bergson, appeared in one field alone, that of laughter. 
In the last decade there has been a distinct tendency toward the 
experimental study of the physiological and chemical changes which 
constitute the inner aspect of emotional responses, as for example, 
the report of Cannon upon his studies in his book Bodily Changes in 
Pain, Hunger, Fear, and Rage. 

Simultaneous with this study of the physiological aspect of the 
emotional responses went further observation of its expression, the 
manifestation of the emotion. The research upon the communication 
of emotions and ideas proceeded from natural signs to gesture and 
finally to language. Genetic psychologists pointed out that the 
natural gesture is an abbreviated act. Mallery’s investigation upon 
“Sign Language among North American Indians Compared with 
that among Other Peoples and Deaf Mutes”’ disclosed the high devel- 
opment of communication by gestures among Indian tribes. Wilhelm 
Wundt in his study of the origin of speech indicated the intimate 
relation between language and gesture in his conclusion that speech 
is vocal gesture. Similarly research in the origin of writing derives it, 
as indicated earlier in this chapter, through the intermediate form of 
pictographs from pictures. 

The significance for social life of the extension of communica- 
tion through inventions has impressed ethnologists, historians, and 
sociologists. ‘The ethnologist determines the beginnings of ancient 
civilization by the invention of writing. Historians have noted and 
emphasized the relation of the printing press to the transition from 
medieval to modern society. Graham Wallas in his Great Society 
interprets modern society as a creation of the machine and of the 
artificial means of communication. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 423 


Sociological interest in language and writing is turning from 
studies of origins to investigations of their function in group life. 
Material is now available which indicates the extent to which the 
group may be studied through its language. Accordingly the point 
of view for the study of orthodox speech, or “‘correct”’ English, is 
that of the continuity of society; just as the standpoint for the study 
of heterodox language, or ‘‘slang,” is that of the life of the group at 
the moment. The significance of the fact that ‘‘every group has its 
own language” is being recognized in its bearings upon research. 
Studies of dialects of isolated groups, of the argot of social classes, 
of the technical terms of occupational groups, of the precise termi- 
nology of scientific groups suggest the wide range of concrete materials. 
The expression “different universes of discourse’ indicates how 
communication separates as well as unites persons and groups. 


3. Imitation 


Bagehot’s Physics and Politics published in 1872, with its chapter 
on ‘‘Imitation,” was the first serious account of the nature of the réle 
of imitation in social life. Gabriel Tarde, a French magistrate, 
becoming interested in imitation as an explanation of the behavior 
of criminals, undertook an extensive observation of its effects in the 
entire field of human activities. In his book Laws of Imitation, 
published in 1890, he made imitation synonymous with all intermental 
activity. ‘‘I have always given it (imitation) a very precise and 
characteristic meaning, that of the action at a distance of one mind 
upon another. .... By imitation I méan every impression of inter- 
psychical photography, so to speak, willed or not willed, passive or 
active.”? “The unvarying characteristic of every social fact what- 
soever is that it is imitative;and this Characteristic belongs exclu- 
sively to social facts.” ? 

In this unwarranted extension of the concept of imitation Tarde 
undeniably had committed the unpardonable sin of science, i.e., he 
substituted for the careful study and patient observation of imitative 
behavior, easy and glittering generalizations upon uniformities in 
society. Contributions to an understanding of the actual process of 
imitation came from psychologists. Baldwin brought forward the 
concept of circular reaction to explain the interrelation of stimulus 


oop xiv. . 2P. 41. 


424 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and response in imitation. He also indicated the place of imitation 
in personal development in his description of the dialectic of personal 
growth where the self develops in a process of give-and-take with 
other selves. Dewey, Stout, Mead, Henderson, and others, empha- 
sizing the futility of the mystical explanation of imitation by imitation, 
have pointed out the influence of interest and attention upon imitation 
as a learning process. Mead, with keen analysis of the social situa- 
tion, interprets imitation as the process by which the person practices 
rdles in social life. The studies of Thorndike may be mentioned as 
representative of the important experimental research upon this 
subject. ; 

4. Suggestion 


The reflective study of imitation originated in attempts at the 
explanation of uniformities in the behavior of individuals. Research 
in suggestion began in the narrow but mysterious field of the occult. 
In 1765 Mesmer secured widespread attention by advancing the 
theory that heavenly bodies influence human beings by means of a 
subtle fluid which he called ‘‘animal magnetism.” Abbé Faria, who 
came to Paris from India in 1814-15, demonstrated by experiments 
that the cause of the hypnotic sleep was subjective. With the experi- 
ments in 1841 of Dr. James Braid, the originator of the term ‘“‘hypno- 
tism,”’ the scientific phase of the dévelopment of hypnotism began. 
The acceptance of the facts of hypnotism by the scientific world was 
the result of the work of Charcot and his students of the so-called 
Nancy School of Psychology. 

From the study of hypnotism to observation upon the réle of 
suggestion in social life was a short step. Binet, Sidis, Miinsterberg 
have formulated psychological definitions of suggestion and indicated 
its significance for an understanding of so-called crowd phenomena in 
human behavior. Bechterew in his monograph Die Bedeutung der 
Suggestion im Sozialen Leben has presented an interpretation of dis- 
tinct value for sociological research. At the present time there are 
many promising developments in the study of suggestion in special 
fields, such as advertising, crowd psychology, leadership, politics, 
religion. 


_— It has been said that it is impossible to will to do anything new. 
What one wants is something that one has already had or known. 


5. Invention 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 425 


It is in the effort to realize an old value in a new situation that men 
make discoveries and inventions. The statement rests, as do most 
other genera] statements of the sort, upon a definition. What do we 
mean by “new’’; what is an invention ? 

Darwin, in describing the process of biological evolution, assumed 
the existence of variations. Individual organisms exhibit variations 
from type. No two individuals are exactly alike. The process of 
natural selection determines which of these individuals shall survive 
and be transmitted. In this way new types are gradually evolved. 

In the same way it may be assumed that society in “the struggle 
for existence,” that is to say, in the effort to realize, in a new environ- 
ment and under changed conditions, recognized and accepted values, 
selects and accumulates, and so creates new values. 

This leaves unanswered the question: How do variations occur ? 
For the student of society the question assumes, finally, a somewhat 
different form, namely: Under what conditions do inventions arise ? 

Under the title of “Suggestion and Imitation”’ psychologists have 
sought to describe the processes by which recognized values, and the 
devices by which these values may be realized, are communicated. 
The literature listed’ under invention’ is intended to indicate the 
manner in which biologists, psychologists, and sociologists. have 
sought to formulate and investigate the problem of invention. 
But, as yet, no adequate sociological study of invention has been 
made. 

In general it may, perhaps, be said that inventions arise in the 
effort of individuals and society to act. Invention, in the sense of an 
idea, social program, device, or conscious construction to meet some 
conscious and recognized need of individuals or society, is dependent 
finally upon the existing organization of social life and the ability of 
man to predict and control his own future. Social changes are always 
and everywhere taking place, and society, by processes that are only 
partly conscious and controlled, is steadily selecting and appropriating 
them. But invention, in the narrower and stricter use of that term, 
may be said to take place only so far as man can foresee and predict 
his future in terms of his past and present.? 


1 See p. 431. 


2 See chap. xiv, “Progress,” especially pp. 955-56 and 1001-2. 


426 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. INTERACTION AND SOCIAL INTERACTION 


(1) Lotze, Hermann. Metaphysic. Vol. I, chap. vi, ‘‘The Unity of 
Things.” Oxford, 1887. 

(2) Ormond, Alexander T. Foundations of Knowledge. Chap. vii, “‘Com- 
munity or Interaction.”’ London and New York, 1900. 

(3) Gumplowicz, L. Der Rassenkampf. Sociologische Untersuchungen. 
Pp. 158-75. Innsbruck, 1883. 

(4) Simmel, Georg. ‘‘Uber sociale Differenzierung, sociologische und 
psychologische Untersuchungen.” Staats- und Socialwissenschaftliche 
Forschungen, edited by G. Schmoller. Vol. X. Leipzig, 1891. 

(5) Royce, J. The World and the Individual. 2d ser. ‘Nature, Man, 
and the Moral Order,” Lecture IV. ‘‘Physical and Social Reality.” 
London and New York, root. 

(6) Boodin, J. E. ‘Social Systems,” American Journal of Sociology, 
XXIII (May, 1918), 705-34. 

(7) Tosti, Gustavo. “Social Psychology and Sociology,” The Psycho- 
logical Review, V (July, 1898), 348-61. 

(8) Small, Albion W. General Sociology. Chicago, 1905. 

(9) Cooley, Charles H. The Social Process. New York, 1918. 


II. SOCIAL INTERACTION AND SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS 

(x) Marshall, Henry R. Consciousness. Chap. vii, ‘‘Of Consciousnesses 
More Complex than Human Consciousness.” New York and London, 
1QOO. : 

(2) Baldwin, James Mark. Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental 
Development. A study in social psychology. New York and London, 
1906. 

(3) Royce, Josiah. ‘‘Self-Consciousness, Social Consciousness and 
Nature,” Philosophical Review, IV (1895), 465-85; 577-602. 

(4) “The External World and the Social Consciousness,” 
Philosophical Review, III (1894), 513-45. 

(5) Worms, René. Organisme et Société. Chap. x, “Fonctions de Rela- 
tion.” Paris, 1896. 

(6) Mead, G. H. ‘‘Social Consciousness and the Consciousness of Mean- 
ing,” Psychological Bulletin, VII (Dec. 15, 1910), 397-405. 

(7) . “Psychology of Social Consciousness Implied in Instruction,” 
Science, N.S., XXI (1910), 688-93. 

(8) Novicow, J. Conscience et volonté socialés. Paris, 1897. 

(9) McDougall, W. The Group Mind. A sketch of the principles of 
collective psychology with some attempt to apply them to the inter- 
pretation of national life and character. New York and London, 1920. 

(10) Perry, Ralph Barton. “Is There a Social Mind?” American Journal 
of Sociology, XXVII (1922), 561-72, 721-36. 

(11) Ames, Edward S. “Religion in Terms of Social Consciousness,”’ 
Journal of Religion, I (1921), 264-70. 

(12) Burgess, E. W. The Function of Socialization in Social Evolution. 
Chicago, 1916. 

(13) Maciver,R. M. Community. A sociological study, an attempt to set 
out the nature and fundamental laws of social life. London, 1917. 








SOCIAL INTERACTION 427 


Ill. COMMUNICATION AND INTERACTION 


A. The Emotions and Emotional Expression 


(1) James, William. The Principles of Psychology. Vol. II. chap. xxv. 
New York, 1806. 

(2) Dewey, John. “The Theory of Emotion,” Psychological Review, 
I (1894), 553-69; II (1895), 13-32. 

(3) Wundt, Wilhelm. Grundsziige der phystologischen Psychologie. 
3 vols. 6thed. Leipzig, 1go8-11. 

(4) Ribot, T. The Psychology of the Emotions. London and New 
York, 1808. 

(5) Darwin, Charles. The Expression of the Emotions in Man and 
Animals. London and New York, 1873. 

(6) Rudolph, Heinrich. Der Ausdruck der Gemiitsbewegungen des 
Menschen dargestellt und erklirt auf Grund der Urformen und der 
Gesetze des Ausdrucks und der Erregungen. Dresden, 1903. 

(7) Piderit, T. Mimik und Physiognomik. Rev. ed. Detmold, 1886 

(8) Hirn, Yrj6. The Origins of Art. A psychological and sociological 
inquiry. London and New York, rgoo. 

(9) Cannon, Walter B. Bodily Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear, and 
Rage. An account of recent researches into the function of emo- 
tional excitement. New York and London, rors. 

(10) Hall, G. Stanley. “A Study of Fears,” American Journal of 
Psychology, VIII (1896-97), 147-240. 

(11) Saunders, F. H., and Hall, G. Stanley. “Pity,” American Journal 
of Psychology XI (1899-1900), 534-91. 

(12) Stanley, H. M. ‘‘The Psychology of Pity,” Science, N.S., XII 
(1900), 487-88. 

(13) Bergson, H. Le Rire. Essai sur la signification du comique. 
Paris, 1900. 

(14) Sully, James. An Essay on Laughter. Its forms, its causes, its 
development, and its value. London and New York, 1902. 

(15) Dugas, L. Psychologie du rire. Paris, 1902. 

(16) Greig, J. Y. T. The Psychology of Laughter and Comedy. New 
York, 1923. 

(17) Groos, Karl. The Play of Man. Translated from the German by 
Elizabeth L. Baldwin. New York, root. 

The Play of Animals. Translated from the German by 
Elizabeth L. Baldwin. New York, 1808. 

(19) Royce, J. The Spirit of M odern Philosophy. An essay in the 
form of lectures. Chap. xii, ‘Physical Law and Freedom: The 
World of Description and the World of Appreciation.”” Boston, 
1892. 

(20) Biicher, Karl. Arbeit und Rhythmus. Leipzig, 1902. 

(21) Mallery, Garrick. ‘‘Sign Language among North American 
Indians compared with That among Other Peoples and Deaf 
Mutes.” United States Bureau of American Ethnology. First 
Annual Report. Washington, 188r. 

(22) Ogden, C. K., and Richards, I. A. The Meaning of Meaning. 
A study of the influence of language upon thought and of the 
science of symbolism. London, 1923. 





(18) 


428 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


B. Language and the Printing Press 


(1) Schmoller, Gustav. Grundriss der allgemeinen Volkswirtschaftslehre. 
Chap. ul, 2, “Die psychophysischen Mittel menschlicher Verstin- 
digung: Sprache und Schrift.” Leipzig, 1go00. 

(2) Jespersen, Otto. Language. Its nature, development, and origin. 
London, 1922. 

(3) Vendryes, J. Le Langage. Introduction linguistique a l’histoire. 
Paris, 1921. 

(4) Lazarus, Moritz. ‘Das Leken der Seele,”’ Geist und Sprache, 
Vol. II. Berlin, 1878. 

(5) Wundt, Wilhelm. ‘‘Voélkerpsychologie.”” Eine Untersuchung der 
Entwicklungsgesetze von Sprache, Mythus, und Sitte. Die 
Sprache, Vol. I: Part 1. Leipzig, 1900. 

(6) Wuttke, Heinrich. Die deutschen Zeitschriften und die Entstehung 
der 6ffentlichen Meinung. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Zeitungs- 
wesens. Leipzig, 1875. 

(7) Mason, William A.- A History of the Art of Writing. New York, 
1920. , 

(8) Biicher, Carl. Industrial Evolution. Translated from the German 
by S. M. Wickett. Chap. vi, ‘‘The Genesis of Journalism.” New 
York, 1got. | 

(9) Dibblee, G. Binney. The Newspaper. New York and London, 
L053; 

(10) Payne, George Henry. History of Journalism in the United States. 
New York and London, 1920. 

(11) Kawabé, Kisaburé. The Press and Politics in Japan. A study of 
the relation between the newspaper and the political development 
of modern Japan. Chicago, 1921. 

(12) Miinsterberg, Hugo. The Photoplay. A_ psychological study. 
New York, rg16. 

(13) Kingsbury, J. E. The Telephone and Telephone Exchanges. Their 
invention and development. London and New York, rg1t5. 

(14) Borght, R. van der. Das Verkehrswesen. Leipzig, 1894. 

(15) Mason, O. T. Primitive Travel and Transportation. New York, 
1897. 
[See bibliographies, ‘““The Newspaper as an Organ of Public 
Opinion,” pp. 858-59, and “Language Revivals and Nationalism,” 


pp. 945-46.] 
C. Slang, Argot, and Universes of Discourse 


(1) Farmer, John S. Slang and. Its Analogues Past and Present. A 
dictionary, historical and comparative, of the heterodox speech of 
all classes of society for more than three hundred years. With 
synonyms in English, French, German, Italian, etc. London, 
1890-1904. 

(2) Ulaisch oh Namaste rien und thre Entstehung. Wien, 1907. 

(3) Sechrist, Frank K. The Psychology of Unconventional Language. 
Worcester, Mass., 1913. 

(4) Ware, J. Redding. Passing English of the Victorian Era. A 
dictionary of heterodox English, slang and phrase. New York, 1909. 


Cor 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 4209 


(5) Hotten, John C. A Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar 
Words. Used at the present day in the streets of London; the 
universities of Oxford and Cambridge; the houses of Parliament; 
the dens of St. Giles; and the palaces of St. James. Preceded by a 
history of cant and vulgar language; with glossaries of two secret 
languages, spoken by the wandering tribes of London, the coster- 
mongers, and the patterers. London, 18509. 

(6) The Slang Dictionary. Etymological, historical, and 
anecdotal. New York, 1808. 

(7) Farmer, John S. The Public School Word-Book. A contribution 
to a historical glossary of words, phrases, and turns of expression, 
obsolete and in present use, peculiar to our great public schools, 
together with some that have been or are modish at the universities. 
London, 1Igoo. 

(8) A New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of the Canting 
Crew. In its several tribes of gypsies, beggars, thieves, cheats, 
etc., with an addition of some proverbs, phrases, and figurative 
speeches, etc. London, 1690. Reprinted, 19-. 

(9) Kluge, F. Rotwelsch. Quellen und Wortschatz der Gaunersprache 
und der verwandten Geheimsprachen. Strassburg, 1got. 

(10) Barrére, Albert, and Leland, C. G., editors. A Dictionary of Slang, 
Jargon, and Cant. Embracing English, American, and Anglo- 
Indian slang, pidgin English, gypsies’ jargon, and other irregular 
phraseology. 2 vols. London, 1897. 

(11) Villatte, Césaire. Parisismen. Alphabetisch geordnete Sammlung 
der eigenartigen Ausdrucksweisen des Pariser Argot. Ein Supple- 
ment zu allen franzdsisch-deutschen Worterbiichern. Berlin, 1899. 

(12) Delesalle, Georges. Dictionnaire argot-frangais et. frangais-argot. 
Nouvelle édition. Paris, 1899. 

(13) Villon, Francois. Le jargon et jobelin de Francois Villon, suivi du 
jargon au thédtre. Paris, 1888. 

(14) Saineanu, Lazar. L’Argot ancien (1455-1850). Ses éléments con- 
stitutifs, ses rapports avec les langues secrétes de |’Europe méri- 
dionale et l’argot moderne, avec un appendice sur l’argot juge par 


Victor Hugo et Balzac; par Lazare Sainéan, pseud. Paris, 1907. 

(15) Klenz, Heinrich. Die deutsche Druckersprache. Strassburg, 1900. 

(16) Dauzat, Albert. Les argots des métiers franco-provencgaux. Paris,1gt7. 

(17) Leland, Charles G. The English Gypsies and Their Languages. 
4th ed. New York, 1893. 

(18) Dictionnaire des termes militaires et de Vargot poilu. Paris, 1916. 

(19) Empey, Arthur Guy. Over the Top. By an American soldier who 
went, Arthur Guy Empey, machine gunner, serving in France; 
together with Tommy’s dictionary of the trenches. New York 
and London, 1917. 

(20) Smith, L. N. Lingo of No Man’s Land; or, War Time Lexicon. 
Compiled by Sergt. Lorenzo N. Smith. Chicago, 1918. 

(21) Saineanu, Lazar. L’Argot des tranchées. D’aprés les lettres des 
poilus et les journaux du front. Paris, 1915. 

(22) Horn, Paul. Die deutsche Soldatensprache. Giessen, 1905. 


[See bibliography, “Dialects as a Factor in Isolation,” pp. 275-76.| 





430 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


IV. IMITATION, SUGGESTION, AND INVENTION 


A. Imitation 


(1) 


(2) 
(3) 
(4) 
(5) 
(6) 
(7) 
(8) 


(9) 


(ro) 


(11) 


(12) 


(13) 


Bagehot, Walter. Physics and Politics; or, Thoughts on the A ppli- 
cation of the Principles of ‘‘ Natural Selection” and “‘ Inheritance” to 
Political Society. New York, 1873. 

Tarde, Gabriel. The Laws of Imitation. Translated from the 2d 
French ed. by Elsie Clews Parsons. New York, 1903. 

Baldwin, James M. Mental Development in the Child and the Race. 
Methods and processes. 3d rev. ed. New York, 1906. 

Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental Development. 
A study in social psychology. ath ed. New York, 1906. 

Royce, Josiah. Outlines of Psychology. An elementary treatise 
with some practical applications. New York, 1903. 

Henderson, Ernest N. A Text-Book in the Principles of Education. 
Chap. xi, ‘‘Imitation.”” New York, 1g1o. 

Thorndike, E. L. Educational Psychology. Vol. I, The Original 
Nature of Man. Chap. vili, pp. ro8-22. New York, 1913. 
Hughes, Henry. Die Mimik des Menschen auf Grund voluntarischer 
Psychologie. Frankfurt a. M., goo. 

Park, Robert E. Masse und Publikum. Eine methodologische 
und soziologische Untersuchung. Chap. ii, “Der soziologische 
Prozess,”’ describes the historical development of the conception of 
imitation in its relation to sympathy and mimicry in the writings 
of Hume, Butler, and Dugald Stewart. Bern, 1904. : 

Smith, Adam. The Theory of Moral Sentiments. To which is 
added a dissertation on the origin of languages. London, 1892. 
Ribot, T. The Psychology of the Emotions. Part II, chap. iv, 
“Sympathy and the Tender Emotions,” pp. 230-38. Translated 
from the French. 2d ed. London, rort. 

Dewey, John. “Imitation in Education,” Cyclopedia of Education, 
III, 389-90. 

Hirn, Yrj6. The Origins of Art. A psychological and sociological 
inquiry. Chap. vi, ‘Social Expression.” London and New York, 
1900. 





B. Suggestion 


(1) 


Moll, Albert. Hypnotism. Including a study of the chief points 
of psychotherapeutics and occultism. Translated from the 4th 
enl. ed. by A. F. Hopkirk. London and New York, 1go9. 

Binet, A., and Féré, Ch. Animal Magnetism. New York, 1802. 
Janet, Pierre. L’Automisme psychologique. Essai de psychologie 
expérimentale sur les formes inférieures de l’activité humaine. 
Paris, 1880. 
Bernheim, H. AHypnotisme, Suggestion, Psychothérapie. Paris, 1891. 
Richet, Ch. Experimentelle Studien auf dem Gebiete der Gedanken- 
tibertragung und des sogenannten Hellsehens. Deutsch von Frhrn. 
von Schrenck-Notzing. Stuttgart, r8qr. 

Pfungst, Oskar. Clever Hans (The Horse of Mr. von Osten). A 
contribution to experimental animal and human psychology. New 
York, 1911. [Bibliography.] 





Ge 


Ot NAN PWD 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 431 


(7) Hansen, F.C.C., and Lehmann, A. Uber unwillkiirliches Fliistern. 
Philosophische Studien, Leipzig, XI (1895), 471-530. 

(8) Féré, Ch. Sensation et mouvement. Chap. xix, pp. 120-24. Paris, 
1887. 

(9) Sidis, Boris. The Psychology of Suggestion. A research into the 
subconscious nature of man and society. New York, 1808. 

(10) Bechterew, W. v. Die Bedeutung der Suggestion im Sozialen Leben. 
Grenzfragen des Nerven- und Seelenlebens. Wiesbaden, ros. 

(11) Stoll, Otto. Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der V élkerpsychologie. 
Leipzig, 1904. 

(12) Binet, Alfred. La Suggestibilité. Paris, 1900. 

(13) Miinsterberg, Hugo. Psychotherapy. Chap. v, “Suggestion and 
Hypnotism,” pp. 85-124. New York, 1909. 

(14) Cooley, Charles. Human Nature and the Social Order. Chap. ii. 
New York, 1902. 

(15) Gulick, Sidney. The American Japanese Problem. A study of the 
racial relations of the East and the West. Pp. 118-68. New 
York, rg14. 

(16) Fishberg, Maurice. The Jews. A study of race and environment. 
London and New York, ro11. [Attempts to explain certain 
so-called ‘‘racial traits” as a result of imitation and suggestion. | 


Invention 


(1) Baldwin, J. M. Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental Develop- 
ment. . Part II, ‘‘The Inventive Person,” pp. 57-184. New York, 
1897. 

(2) Morgan, C. L. Emergent Evolution. Wondon, 1923. 

(3) Ribot, Th. Essay on the Creative Imagination. Translated from the 
French by Albert H. N. Baron. Chicago, 1906. 

(4) aay Josiah. “Psychology of Invention,” Psychological Review, 
V (18098). 

(5) Mason, O. T. Origins of Invention. A study of industry among 
primitive peoples. London, 1895. 

(6) Cooley, Charles H. ‘‘Genius, Fame, and the Comparison of Races,” 
Annals of the American Academy, IX (1897), 317-58. 

(7) Tanner, Amy E. ‘‘Certain Social Aspects of Invention,” American 
Journal of Psychology, XXVI (1915), 388-416. ([Bibliography.| 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. A History of the Concept of Social Interaction 
. Interaction and the Atomic Theory 

. Interaction and Social Consciousness 

. Interaction and Self-Consciousness 

. Religion and Social Consciousness 

. Publicity and Social Consciousness 


Interaction and the Limits of the Group 


. The Senses and Communication: a Comparative Study of the Réle of 


Touch, Smell, Sight, and Hearing in Social Intercourse 


432 


Io. 
NEG 
2s 


nee 
14. 
5. 
16. 


17. 
18. 
IQ. 
20. 


21. 


22s 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


_ Facial Expression as a Form of Communication 


Laughter and Blushing and Self-Consciousness 

The Sociology of Gesture 

The Subtler Forms of Interaction; ‘“Mind-Reading,” “Thought 
Transference”’ ; 

Rapport, A Study of Mutual Influence in Intimate Associations 

A History of Imitation as a Sociological Theory 

Suggestion as an Explanation of Collective Behavior 

Adam Smith’s Theory of the Relation of Sympathy and Moral 
Judgment 

Interest, Attention, and Imitation 

Imitation and Appreciation 

The History of Printing and of the Press 

Modern Extensions of Communication: the Telephone, the Telegraph, 
Radio, the Motion Picture, Popular Music 

An Explanation of Secondary Society in Terms of Secondary Devices 
of Communication 

Graham Wallas’ Conception of the Problem of Social Heritages in 
Secondary Society 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand Gumplowicz to mean by a “‘natural process” ? 
. Do you think that the idea of a “natural process” is applicable to 


society ? 


. Is Gumplowicz’ principle of the interaction of social elements valid ? 


4. What do you understand Simm¢et to mean by society? by sociali- 


Io. 


zation ? 


. Do you agree with Simmel when he says, “In and of themselves, these 


materials with which life is filled, these motivations which impel it, 
are not social in their nature” ? 


. In what ways, according to Simmel, does interaction maintain the 


mechanism of the group in time? 


. What do you understand to be the distinction which Simmel makes 


between attitudes of appreciation and comprehension ? 


. “The interaction of individuals based upon mutual glances is perhaps 


the most direct and purest reciprocity which exists.”” Explain. 
Explain the sociology of the act of looking down to avoid the glance 
of the other. 

In what way does Simmel’s distinction between the reactions to 
other persons of the blind and the deaf-mute afford an explanation 
of the difference between the social life of the village and of the 
large city ? 





Ed. 


2, 
73) 


14. 
iy 


16. 


17. 
im 18, 
_ 19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 


23% 


24. 


26. 


ote 


28. 


20. 
30. 


REE, 
22, 


33: 


34. 


SOCIAL INTERACTION 433 — 


In what sense are emotions expressive? To whom are they ex- 
pressive ? 

What is the relation of emotional expression to communication ? 
Why would you say Darwin states that ‘‘blushing is the most peculiar 
and the most human of all expressions”’ ? 

Does a person ever blush in isolation ? 

What in your opinion is the bearing of the phenomenon of blushing 
upon interaction and communication ? 

What is the difference between the function of blushing and of laughing 
in social life ? 

In what sense is sympathy the “law of laughter”’ 

What determines the object of laughter? 

What is the sociological explanation of the réle of laughter and ridicule 
in social control ? 

What are the likenesses and differences between intercommunication 
among animals and language among men ? 

What is the criterion of the difference between man and the animal, 
according to Max Miiller? 

In your opinion, was the situation in which language arose one of 
unanimity or diversity of attitude ? 

“Language and ideational processes developed together and are 
necessary to each other.” Explain. 

What is the relation of the evolution of writing as a form of com- 
munication (a) to the development of ideas, and (0) to social life ? 


. What difference in function, if any, is there between communication 


carried on (a) merely through expressive signs, (0) language, (c) writing, 
(d) printing ? 

How does the evolution Be publicity exhibit the extension of com- 
munication by human invention ? 

In what ways is the extension of communication related to primary 
and secondary contacts ? 

Does the growth of communication make for or against the development 
of individuality ? 

How do you define imitation ? 

What is the relation of attention and interest to the mechanism of 
imitation ? 

What is the relation of imitation to learning ? 

What is the relation of imitation to the three phases of sympathy 
differentiated by Ribot ? 

What do you understand by Smith’s definition of sympathy? How 
does it differ from that of Ribot ? 

Under what conditions is the sentiment aroused in the observer likely 
to resemble that of the observed? When is it likely to be different ? 


434 


35: 


36. 
37: 


38. 
39. 
40. 


Al. 
42. 


43. 
44. 
45. 
47- 
48. 
40. 


50. 
SI. 


52. 
53: 


54. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In what sense is sympathy the basis for passing a moral judgment 
upon a person or an act ? 

What do you understand by “internal imitation” ? 

What is the significance of imitation for artistic appreciation ? 

What do you understand by the term “appreciation”? Distinguish 
between ‘‘appreciation” and ‘‘comprehension.” (Compare Hirn’s 
distinction with that made by Simmel.) | 

Upon what is the nature of suggestion based? How do you define 
suggestion ?P 

What do you understand by Bechterew’s distinction between active 
perception and passive perception ? 

Why can we speak of suggestion as a mental automatism ? 

How real is the analogy of suggestion to an infection or an inocu- — 
lation ? 

What do you understand by the distinction between personal con- 
sciousness and general consciousness ? 

What is the significance of attention in determining the character of 
suggestion ? 

What is the relation of rapport to suggestion ? 


. How would you distinguish suggestion from other forms of stimulus 


and response ? 

Is suggestion a term of individual or of social psychology ? 

What is the significance of the case of Clever Hans for the interpreta- 
tion of so-called telepathy ? of muscle reading ? 

How extensive, would you say, are the subtler forms of suggestion in 
normal life? What illustrations would you give? 

What is the réle of social contagion in mass action ? 

What do you understand Bechterew to mean by ‘‘the psychological 
processes of fusion”? “spiritual cohesion,” etc. ? 

What does it mean to say that historical personages ‘‘embody in them- 
selves the emotions and the desires of the masses” ? 

What, in your judgment, are the differentiating criteria of suggestion 
and imitation ? 

What do you understand is meant by speaking of imitation and sug- 
gestion as mechanisms of interaction ? 





CHAPTER VIL 
SOCIAL FORCES 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Sources of the Notion of Social Forces 


The concept of interaction is an abstraction so remote from 
ordinary experience that it seems to have occurred only to scientists 
and philosophers. ‘The idea of forces behind the manifestations of 
physical nature and of society is a notion which arises naturally out 
of the experience of the ordinary man. Historians, social reformers, 
and students of community life have used the term in the language of 
common sense to describe factors in social situations which they 
recognized but did not attempt to describe or define. Movements 
for social reform have usually met with unexpected obstacles. Public 
welfare programs have not infrequently been received with popular 
antagonism instead of popular support. Lack of success has led to 
the search for causes, and investigation has revealed the obstacles, 
as well as the aids, to reform embodied in influential persons, ‘“‘politi- 
cal bosses,” “‘union leaders,” ‘‘the local magnate,” and in powerful 
groups such as party organizations, unions, associations of commerce, 
etc. Social control, it appears, is resident, not in individuals as 
individuals, but as members of communities and social groups. Can- 
did recognition of the réle of these persons and groups led popular 
writers on social, political, and economic topics to give them the 
impersonal designation ‘social forces.” 

A student made the following crude and yet illuminating analysis of 
the social forces in a small community where he had lived: the community 
club, “‘the Davidson clique,” and the “‘Jones clique” (these two large family 
groups are intensely hostile and divide village life); the community 
Methodist church; the Presbyterian church group (no church); the library; 
two soft-drink parlors where all kinds of beverages are sold; the daily 
train; the motion-picture show; the dance hall; a gambling clique; sex 
attraction; gossip; the “‘sporting” impulse; the impulse to be “‘decent.” 

“The result,” he states, ‘is a disgrace to our modern civilization. It 
is one of the worst communities I ever saw.” 


435 


436 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The most significant type of community study has been the social 
survey, with a history which antedates its recent developments. 
Yet the survey movement from the Domesday Survey, initiated in 
1085 by William the Conqueror, to the recent Study of Methods of 
Americanizaiion by the Carnegie Corporation, has been based upon 
an implicit or explicit recognition of the interrelations of the commu- 
nity and its constituent groups. The Domesday Survey, although 
undertaken for financial and political purposes, gives a picture of the 
English nation as an organization of isolated local units, which the 
Norman Conquest first of all forced into closer unity. ‘The surveys 
of the Russell Sage Foundation have laid insistent emphasis upon the 
study of social problems and of social institutions in their context 
within the life of the community. The central theme of the different 
divisions of the Carnegie Study of Methods of Americanization is the 
nature and the degree of the participation of the immigrant in our 
national and cultural life. In short, the survey, wittingly or unwit- 
tingly, has tended to penetrate beneath surface observations to dis- 
cover the interrelations of social groups and institutions and has 
revealed community life as a constellation of social forces. 


2. History of the Concept of Social Forces 


The concept of social forces has had a history different from that 
of interaction. It was in the writings of the historians rather than 
of the sociologists that the term first gained currency. ‘The historians, 
in their description and interpretation of persons and events, dis- 
cerned definite motives or tendencies, which served to give to the 
mere temporal sequence of the events a significance which they did 
not otherwise possess. ‘These tendencies historians called “‘social 
forces.” 

From the point of view and for the purposes of reformers social 
forces were conceived as embodied in institutions. For the purposes 
of the historian they are merely tendencies which combine to define 
the general trend of historical change. ‘The logical motive, which 
has everywhere guided science in formulating its conceptions, is here 
revealed in iis most naive and elementary form. Natural science 
invariably seeks to describe change in terms of process, that is to say, 
in terms of interaction of tendencies. ‘These tendencies are what 
science calls forces. 


SOCIAL FORCES | 437 


For the purposes of an adequate description, however, it is neces- 
sary not merely to conceive change in terms of the interplay of forces, 
but to think of these forces as somehow objectively embodied, as 
social forces are conceived to be embodied in institutions, organi- 
zations, and persons. ‘These objects in which the forces are, or seem 
to be, resident are not forces in any real or metaphysical sense, as the 
physicists tell us. They are mere points of reference which enable us 
to visualize the direction and measure the intensity of change. 

Institutions and social organizations may, in any given situation, 
be regarded as social forces, but they are not ultimate nor elementary 
forces. One has but to carry the analysis of the community a little 
farther to discover the fact that institutions and organizations may 
be further resolved into factors of smaller and smaller denominations 
until we have arrived at individual men and women. For common 
sense the individual is quite evidently the ultimate factor in every 
community or social organization. 

Sociologists have carried the analysis a step farther. They have 
sought to meet the problem raised by two facts: (1) the same indi- 
vidual may be a member of different societies, communities, and 
social groups at the same time; (2) under certain circumstances his 
interests as a member of one group may conflict with his interests as 
a member of another group, so that the conflict between different 
social groups will be reflected in the mental and moral conflicts of 
the individual himself. Furthermore, it is evident that the indi- 
vidual is, as we frequently say, ‘“‘not the same person”’ at different 
times and places. The phenomena of moods and of dual personality 
have sociological significance in just this connection. 

From all this it is quite evident that the individual is not ele- 
mentary in a sociological sense. It is for this reason that sociologists 
have invariably sought the sociological element, not in the individual 
but in his appetites, desires, wishes—the human motives which move 
him to action. 

3. Classification of the Materials 


The readings in this chapter are arranged in the natural order of 
the development of the notion of social forces. They were first 
thought of by historians as_tendencies_and trends. Then in the 
popular sociology social forces were identified with significant social 

‘ objects in which the factors of the situations under consideration were 


438 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


embodied. This was a step in the direction of a definition of the 
elementary social forces. Later the terms interests,sentiments, and 
attitudes made their appearance in the literature of economics, social 

psychology, and sociology. Finally the concept of the_wishes, first 
vaguely apprehended by sociologists under the name “‘desires,”’ having 
gained a more adequate description and definition in the use made of 
it by psychoanalysis, has been reintroduced into sociology by W. I. 
Thomas under the title of the “four wishes.” This brief statement 
is sufficient to indicate the motives determining the order of the 
materials included under “Social Forces.” 

In the list of social forces just enumerated, attitudes are, for the 
purposes of sociology, elementary. They are elementary because, 
being tendencies to act, they are expressive and communicable. ‘They 
present us human motives in the only form in which we can know 
them objectively, namely, as behavior. Human motives become 
social forces only so far as they are communicable, only when they 
are communicated. Because attitudes have for the purposes of 
sociology this elementary character, it is desirable to define the term 
“attitude” before attempting to define its relation to the wishes 
and sentiments. 

a) The social element defincd.—What is an attitude? Attitudes 
are not instincts, nor appetites, nor habits, for these refer to specific 
tendencies to act that condition attitudes but do not define them. 
Attitudes are not the same as emotions or sentiments although 
attitudes always are emotionally toned and frequently supported by 
sentiments. Opinions are not attitudes. An opinion is rather a 
statement made to justify and make intelligible an existing attitude 
or bias. A wish is an inherited tendency or instinct which has been 
fixed by attention directed to objects, persons, or patterns of 
behavior, all of which then assume the character of values. An 
attitude is the tendency of the person to react positively or nega- 
tively to the total situation. Accordingly, attitudes4may be defined 
as the mobilization of the wil! of the person. pie tH 

Attitudes are~as_many and as varied as the situations to which 
they area response. It is, of course, not to be gainsaid that instincts, 
appetites, habits, emotions, sentiments, opinions, and wishes are 
involved in and with the attitudes. Attitudes are mobilizations and 
organizations of the wishes with reference to definite situations. My 








SOCIAL FORCES 439 


wishes may be very positive and definite in a given situation, but my 
attitude may be wavering and undetermined. On the other hand, 
my attitude may be clearly defined in situations where my wishes 
are not greatly involved. It is characteristic of the so-called aca- 
demic, as distinguished from the “‘practical’’ and emotional, attitude 
that, under its influence, the individual seeks to emphasize all the 
factors in the situation and thus qualifies and often weakens the will 
to act. ‘The wishes enter into attitudes as components. How many, 
varied, ill-defined, and conflicting may be and have been the wishes 
that have determined at different times the attitudes and the senti- 
ments of individuals and nations toward the issues of war and peace? 
The fundamental wishes, we may assume, are the same in all situ- 
ations. ‘The attitudes and sentiments, however, in which the wishes 
of the individual find expression are determined not merely by these 
wishes, but by other factors in the situation, the wishes of other 
individuals, for example. ‘The desire for recognition is a permanent 
and universal trait of human nature, but in the case of an egocentric 
personality, this wish may take the form of an excessive humility or 
a pretentious boasting. The wish is the same but the attitudes in 
which it finds expression are different. 

The attitudes which are elementary for sociological analysis may 
be resolved by psychological analysis into smaller factors so that we 
may think, if we choose, of attitudes as representing constellations 
of smaller components which we call wishes. In fact it has been - 
of the great contributions of psychoanalysis to our knowle 
- human behavior that it has been able to show that attitud- 
analyzed into still more elementary components and tha’ 
ponents, like the attitudes, are involved in a process 
among themselves. In other words there is orga’ 
and change in the constituent elements of th 
accounts, in part, for their mutability. 

b) Attitudes as behavior patterns. —If the at 
play the réle in sociological analysis that the 
play in chemical analysis, then the réle of, 
pared to that of the electrons. 

The clearest way to think of attituder 
units of behavior. The two most elementi 
tendency to approach and the tendene 


440 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


into terms of the individual organism these are tendencies to expand . 
and to contract. As the self expands to include other selves, as 
in sympathy and in fellowship, there is an extension of self-feeling 
to the whole group. Self-consciousness passes over, in the rapport 
thus established, into group consciousness. In the expansive move- 
ments characteristic of individuals under the influence of crowd 
excitements,the individual is submerged in the mass. 

On the other hand, in movements of withdrawal or of recoil from 
other persons, characteristic of fear and embarrassment, there is a 
heightening of self-consciousness. ‘The tendency to identify one’s self 
with other selves, to lose one’s self in the ecstasy of psychic union with 
others, is essentially a movement toward contact; while the inclina- 
tion to differentiate one’s self, to lead a self-sufficient existence, apart 
from others, is as distinctly a movement resulting in isolation. 

The simplest and most fundamental types of behavior of indi- 
viduals and of groups are represented in these contrasting tendencies 
to approach an object or to withdraw from it. If instead of thinking 
of these two tendencies as unrelated, they are thought of as conflicting 
responses to the same situation, where the tendency to approach is 
modified and complicated by a tendency to withdraw, we get the 
phenomenon of social distance. ‘There is the tendency to approach, 
but not too near. ‘There is a feeling of interest and sympathy of A 
for B, but only when B remains at a certain distance. Thus the 
Negro in the southern states is “‘all right in his place.” The northern 
philanthropist is interested in the advancement of the Negro but 
wants him to remain in the South. At least he does not want him 

-a neighbor. The southern white man likes the Negro as an indi- 
* but he is not willing to treat him as an equal. The northern 
an is willing to treat the Negro as an equal but he does not 
oo near. ‘The wishes are in both cases essentially the same 

‘ides are different. 
nodations between conflicting tendencies, so flagrantly 
‘acts of race prejudice, are not confined to the relation 
‘ black. The same mechanisms are involved in all 
exclusions;-privacies, social distances, and reserves 
rwhere, by the subtle devices of taboo and social 
d defend. Where the situation calls forth rival 
ties, the resulting attitude is likely to be an 


SOCIAL FORCES 441 


accommodation, in which what has been described as distance is the 
determining factor. When an accommodation takes the form of the 
domination of A and the submission of B, the original tendencies of 
‘approach and withdrawal are transformed into attitudes of super- 
ordination and subordination. If primary attitudes of expansion and 
of contraction are thought of in terms of lateral distance, then atti- 
tudes of superiority and inferiority may be charted im the vertical 
plane as illustrated by the following diagram: 





DORs PAR ONE tonne tes i 
A 
De cic 5 Gras o's) eh ekell Siokenacrone te tevare ls 
is 
3 oo ee er eeeeeeeveir ee eee eee @ ee 
MM ys ote ste eee Pe are A 
Viv 
Bie tle ive ere Sih Bert. : 
7, ey Sh ee ae ee > A 
4 


} Fic. 4.—A =tendency to approach; B=tendency to withdraw; 1, 2,3,4,5= 
distance defining levels of accommodation; X =superordination; Y =subordination. 


This polar conception of attitudes, in which they are conceived 
in terms of movements of expansion and contraction, of approach and 
withdrawal, of attraction and: repulsion, of domination and sub- 
mission, may be applied in an analysis of the sentiments. 

A sentiment, as defined by McDougall, is “an organized system 
of emotional dispositions centered about the idea of some object.” 
The polarity of the sentiments is, however, one of its evident and 
striking characteristics. Love and hate, affection and dislike, 
attachment and aversion, self-esteem and humility have this character 
of polarity because each pair of sentiments and attitudes represents 
a different constellation of the same component wishes. 

A significant feature of sentiments and attitudes is inner tension 
and consequent tendency to mutation. Love changes into hate, or 
dislike is transformed into affection, or humility is replaced by self-. 
assertion. This mutability is explained by the fact, just mentioned, 
that the sentiment-attitude is a complex of wishes and desires organ- 
ized around a person or object. In this complex one motive—love, 


TY &. 
442 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


for example—is for a moment the dominant component. In this case 
components which tend to excite repulsion, hostility, and disgust are 
for the moment suppressed. With a change in the situation, as in the 
distance, these suppressed components are released and, gaining 
control, convert the system into the opposite sentiment, as hate. 

c) Altitudes and wishes.—The wishes, as popularly conceived, are 
as numerous as the objects or values toward which they are directed. 
As there are positive and negative values, so there are positive and 
negative wishes. Fears are negative wishes. The speculations of 
the Freudian school of psychology have attempted to reduce all 
wishes to one, the /ibido. In that case, the wishes, as we know them 
and as they present themselves to us in consciousness, are to be 
regarded as offshoots or, perhaps better, specifications of the one 
wish. As the one wish is directed to this or that object, it makes of 
that object a value and the object gives its name to the wish. In 
this way the one wish becomes many wishes. 

Science demands, however, not a theory of the origin of the 
wishes but a classification based on fundamental natural differences; 
differences which it is necessary to take account of in explaining human 
behavior. ‘Thomas’ fourfold classification fulfils this purpose. The 
wish for security, the wishfornew experience, the wish for response, 
and the wish for recognition are the permanent and fundamental 
unconscious motives of the person which find expression in the many 
and changing concrete and conscious wishes. As wishes find expres- 
sion in characteristic forms of behavior they may also be thought of 
in spatial terms as tendencies to move toward or away from their 
specific objects, The wish for security may be represented by posi- 
tion, mere immobility; the wish for new experience by the greatest 
possible freedom of movement and constant change of position; the 
wish for response, by the number and closeness of points of contact; 
the wish for recognition, by the level desired or reached in the vertical 
plane of superordination and subordination. 

The fundamental value for social research of the classification 
inheres in the fact that the wishes in one class cannot be substituted 
for wishes in another. The desire for response and atfection cannot 
be satisfied by fame and recognition or only partially so. The whole- 
some individual is he who in some form or other realizes all the four 
fundamental wishes. ‘The security and permanence of any society or 





SOCIAL FORCES 443 


association depends upon the extent to which it permits the indi- 
viduals who compose it to realize their fundamental wishes. The 
restless individual is the individual whose wishes are not realized even 
in dreams. | 

This suggests the significance of the classification for the purposes 
of social science. Human nature, and personality as we know it, 
requires for its healthy growth security, new experience, response, 
and recognition. In all races and in all times these fundamental 
longings of human nature have manifested themselves; the particular 
patterns in which the wish finds expression and becomes fixed depends 
upon some special experience of the person, is influenced by individual 
differences in original nature, and is circumscribed by the folkways, 
the mores, the conventions, and the culture of his group. ve 


II. MATERIALS 


A. TRENDS, TENDENCIES, AND PUBLIC OPINION 
1. Social Forces in American History’ 


That political struggles are based upon economic interests is 
today disputed by few students of society. The attempt has been 
made in this work to trace the various interests that have arisen and 
struggled in each social stage and to determine the influence exercised 
by these contending interests in the creation of social institutions. 

Back of every political party there has always stood a group or 
class which expected to profit by the activity and the success of that 
party. When any party has attained to power, it has been because 
it has tried to establish institutions or to modify existing ones in accord 
with its interests. 

Changes in the industrial basis of society—inventions, new 
processes, and combinations and methods of producing and distribut- 
ing goods—create new interests with new social classes to represent 
them. ‘These improvements in the technique of production are the 
dynamic element that brings about what we call progress in society. 

In this work I have sought to begin at the origin of each line of 
social progress. I have first endeavored to describe the steps in 

t Adapted from A. M. Simons, in the Preface to Social Forces in American 


History, pp. vii-viii. (Published by The Macmillan Co., t912. Reprinted by 
permission.) 


444 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


mechanical progress, then the social classes brought into prominence 
by the mechanical changes, then the struggle by which these new 
classes sought to gain social power, and, finally, the institutions 
which were created or the alterations made in existing institutions as a 
consequence of the struggle or as a result of the victory of a new class. 

It has seemed to me that these underlying social forces are of more 
importance than the individuals that were forced to the front in the 
process of these struggles, or even than the laws that were estab- 
lished to record the results of the conflict. In short, I have tried 
to describe the dynamics of history rather than to record the accom- 
plished facts, to answer the question, ‘‘Why did it happen?” as well - 
as, “What happened ?” 

An inquiry into causes is manifestly a greater task than the record- 
ing of accomplished facts. ‘To determine causes it is necessary to 
spend much time in the study of “original documents’’—the news- 
papers, magazines, and pamphlet literature of each period. In 
these, rather than in the ‘‘musty documents” of state, do we find 
history in the making. Here we can see the clash of contending 
interests before they are crystallized into laws and institutions. 


2. Social Tendencies as Social Forces’ 


The philosophy of the eighteenth century viewed external nature 
as tke principal thing to be considered in a study of society, and not 
society itself. ‘The great force in society was extraneous to society. 
But according to the philosophy of our times, the chief forces working 
in society are truly social forces, that is to say, they are immanent in 
society itself. 

Let us briefly examine the social forces which are at work, either 
concentrating or diffusing the ownership of wealth. If it is true that, 
necessarily, there is going forward a concentration of property, that 
the rich are necessarily becoming richer, that wealth is passing into 
fewer and fewer hands, this gives a strong reason for believing that 
those are right who hold to the fact that every field of production must 
soon be controlled by monopoly. If, on the other hand, we find that 
the forces which make for diffusion are dominant, we may believe 
that it is quite possible for society to control the forces of production. 


t Adapted from Richard T. Ely, Evolution of Industrial Society, pp. 456-84. 
(Published by The Macmillan Co., 1903. Reprinted by permission.) 





SOCTAL FORCES 445 


a) Forces operating in the direction of concentration of wealth: 
(1) The unearned increment of land, especially in cities, is no doubt 
a real force. (2) The trust movement is operating in its earlier 
phases, at least, in the direction of concentration. (3) In the third 
place, war, whenever it comes, carries with it forces which bring 
wealth to the few rather than tothe many. (4) Arrangements of one 
kind and another may be mentioned by means of various trust devices 
to secure the ends of primogeniture and entail. (5) Another force 
operating to concentrate the ownership of wealth may be called 
economic inertia. According to the principle of inertia, forces con- 
tinue to operate until they are checked by other forces coming into 
contact with them. 

b) Forces which operate to diffuse wealth: (1) Education, broadly 
considered, should be mentioned first of all. (2) Next, mention 
must be made of the public control of corporations. (3) Changes in 
taxation are the third-item in this enumeration of forces. (4) The 
development of the idea of property as a trust is next mentioned. 
(5) Profit-sharing and co-operation. (6) Sound currency ts next 
mentioned. (7) Public ownership of public utilities is a further 
force. (8) Labor organizations. (9) Institutions, especially in the 
interest of the wage-earning and economically weaker elements in 
the community. (10) Savings institutions and insurance. 


3. Public Opinion: School of Thought and Legislation in England’ 


Public legislative opinion, as it has existed in England during the 
nineteenth century, presents several noteworthy aspects or charac- 
teristics. They may conveniently be considered under five heads: the 
existence at any given period of a predominant public opinion; 
the origin of such opinion; the development and continuity thereof; 
the checks imposed on such opinion by the existence of counter- 
currents and cross-currents of opinion; the action of laws themselves 
as the creators of legislative opinion. 

' First, there exists at any given time a body of beliefs, convictions, 
sentiments, accepted principles, or firmly rooted prejudices, which, 
taken together, make up the public opinion of a particular era, or 
what we may call the reigning or predominant current of opinion, 


t Adapted from A. V. Dicey, Law and Public Opinion in England, pp. 19-41. 
(Published by The Macmillan Co., 1905. Reprinted by permission.) 


446 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and, as regards at any rate the last three or four centuries, and espe- 
cially the nineteenth century, the influence of this dominant current 
of opinion has, in England, if we look at the matter broadly, deter- 
mined, directly nr indirectly, the course of legislation. 

Second, the opinicn which affects the development of the law has, 
in modern England at least, often originated with some single thinker 
or school of thinkers. No doubt it is at times allowable to talk of 
a prevalent belief or opinion as “being in the air,’’ by which expression 
is meant that a particular way of looking at things has become the 
common possession of all the world. But though a belief, when it 
prevails, may at last be adopted by the whole of a generation, it rarely 
happens that a widespread conviction has grown up spontaneously 
among the multitude. ‘The initiation,” it has been said, “of all 
wise or noble things comes, and must come, from individuals; 
generally at first from some one individual,” to which it ought surely 
to be added that the origination of a new folly or of a new form of 
baseness comes, and must in general come, at first from individuals 
or from some one individual. The peculiarity of individuals, as 
contrasted with the crowd, lies neither in virtue nor in wickedness but 
in originality. It is idle to credit minorities with all the good with- 
out ascribing to them most, at least, of the evils due to that rarest 
of all human qualities—inventiveness. 

The course of events in England may often, at least, be thus 
described: A new and, let us assume, a true idea presents itself to some 
one man of originality or genius; the discoverer of the new conception, 
or some follower who has embraced it with enthusiasm, preaches 
it to his friends or disciples, they in their turn become impressed with 
its importance and its truth, and gradually a whole school accepts the 
new creed. ‘These apostles of a new faith are either persons endowed 
with special ability or, what is quite as likely, they are persons who, 
owing to their peculiar position, are freed from a bias, whether moral 
or intellectual, in favor of prevalent errors. At last the preachers of 
truth make an impression, either directly upon the general public 
or upon some person of eminence, say a leading statesman, who stands 
in a position to impress ordinary people and thus to win the support 
of the nation. Success, however, in converting mankind to a new 
faith, whether religious or economical or political, depends but slightly 
on the strength of the reasoning by which the faith can be defended, 





SOCIAL FORCES 447 


or even on the enthusiasm of its adherents. A change of belief arises, 
in the main, from the occurrence of circumstances which incline the 
majority of the world to hear with favor theories which, at one time, 
men of common sense derided as absurdities or distrusted as paradoxes. 
The doctrine of free trade, for instance, has in England for about half 
a century held the field as an unassailable dogma of economic policy, 
but a historian would stand convicted of ignorance or folly who should 
imagine that the fallacies of protection were discovered by the intuitive 
good sense of the people, even if the existence of such a quality as the 
good sense of the people be more than a political fiction. The principle 
of free trade may, as far as Englishmen are concerned, be treated as 
the doctrine of Adam Smith. The reasons in its favor never have 
been, nor will, from the nature of things, be mastered by the majority 
of any people. The apology for freedom of commerce will always 
present, from one point of view, an air of paradox. Every man 
feels or thinks that protection would benefit his own business, and it 
is difficult to realize that what may be a benefit for any man taken 
alone may be of no benefit to a body of men looked at collectively. 
The obvious objections to free trade may, as free traders conceive, 
be met; but then the reasoning by which these objections are met is 
often elaborate and subtle and does not carry conviction to the crowd. 
It is idle to suppose that belief in freedom of trade—or indeed in any 
other creed—ever won its way among the majority of converts by the 
mere force of reasoning. The course of events was very different. 
The theory of free trade won by degrees the approval of statesmen 
of special insight, and adherents to the new economic religion were 
one by one gained among persons of intelligence. Cobden and 
Bright finally became potent advocates of truths of which they were 
in no sense the discoverers. ‘This assertion in no way detracts from 
the credit due to these eminent men. They performed to admiration 
the proper function of popular leaders; by prodigies of energy and 
_ by seizing a favorable opportunity, of which they made the very most 
use that was possible, they gained the acceptance by the English 
people of truths which have rarely, in any country but England, 
acquired popularity. Much was due to the opportuneness of the 
time. Protection wears,its most offensive guise when it can be 
identified with a tax on bread, and therefore can, without patent 
injustice, be described as the parent of famine and starvation. The 


448 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


unpopularity, moreover, inherent in a tax on corn is all but fatal to 
a protective tariff when the class which protection enriches is com- 
paratively small, whilst the class which would suffer keenly from 
dearness of bread and would obtain benefit from free trade is large, 
and, having already acquired much, is certain soon to acquire more 
political power. Add to all this that the Irish famine made: the 
suspension of the corn laws a patent necessity. It is easy, then, to 
see how great in England was the part played by external circum- 
stances—one might almost say by accidental conditions—in deter- 
mining the overthrow of protection. A student should further remark 
that after free trade became an established principle of English policy, 
the majority of the English people accepted it mainly on authority. 
Men who were neither land-owners nor farmers perceived with ease 
the obtrusive evils of a tax on corn, but they and their leaders were 
far less influenced by arguments against protection generally than by 
the immediate and almost visible advantage of cheapening the bread 
of artisans and laborers. What, however, weighed with most English- 
men, above every other consideration, was the harmony of the doctrine 
that commerce ought to be free, with that disbelief in the benefits of - 
state intervention which in 1846 had been gaining ground for more 
than a generation. 

It is impossible, indeed, to insist too strongly upon the con- 
sideration that whilst opinion controls legislation, public opinion is 
itself far less the result of reasoning or of argument than of the circum- 
stances in which men are placed. Between 1783 and 1861 negro 
slavery was abolished—one might almost say ceased of itself to exist— 
in the northern states of the American Republic; in the South, on 
the other hand, the maintenance of slavery developed into a fixed 
policy, and before the War of Secession the “peculiar institution” 
had become the foundation stone of the social system. But the 
religious beliefs and, except as regards the existence of slavery, the 
political institutions prevalent throughout the whole of the United 
States were the same. ‘The condemnation of slavery in the North, 
and the apologies for slavery in the South, must therefore be referred 
to difference of circumstances. Slave labor was obviously out of 
place in Massachusetts, Vermont, or New York; it appeared to be, 
even if in reality it was not, economically profitable in South Carolina. 
An institution, again, which was utterly incompatible with the social 


SOCIAL FORCES 449 


condition of the northern states harmonized, or appeared to harmonize, 
with the social conditions of the southern states. The arguments 
against the peculiar institution were in themselves equally strong 
in whatever part of the Union they were uttered, but they carried 
conviction to the white citizens of Massachusetts, whilst, even when 
heard or read, they did not carry conviction to the citizens of South 
Carolina. Belief, and, to speak fairly, honest belief, was to a great 
extent the result, not of argument, nor even of direct self-interest, 
but of circumstances. What was true in this instance holds good in 
others. ‘There is no reason to suppose that in 1830 the squires of 
England were less patriotic than the manufacturers, or less capable 
of mastering the arguments in favor of or against the reform of 
Parliament. But everyone knows that, as a rule, the country 
gentlemen were Tories and anti-reformers, whilst the manufacturers 
were Radicals and reformers. Circumstances are the creators of 
most men’s opinions. | 

Third, the development of public opinion generally, and therefore 
of legislative opinion, has been in England at once gradual, or slow, 
and continuous. The qualities of slowness and continuity may 
conveniently be considered together, and are closely interconnected, 
but they are distinguishable and essentially different. 

Legislative public opinion generally changes in England with 
unexpected slowness. Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations was published 
in 1776; the policy of free exchange was not completely accepted by 
England till 1846. All the strongest reasons in favor of Catholic 
emancipation were laid before the English world by Burke between 
1760 and 1797; the Roman Catholic Relief Act was not carried till 1829. 

The opinion which changes the law is in one sense the opinion 
of the time when the law is actually altered; in another sense it has 
often been in England the opinion prevalent some twenty or thirty 
years before that time; it has been as often as not in reality the 
opinion, not of today, but of yesterday. 

Legislative opinion must be the opinion of the day, because, 
when laws are altered, the alteration is of necessity carried into effect 
by legislators who act under the belief that the change is an amend- 
ment; but this law-making opinion is also the opinion of yesterday, 
because the beliefs which have at last gained such hold on the legisla- 
ture as to produce an alteration in the law have generally been 


450 . INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


created by thinkers or writers who exerted their influence long before 
the change in the law took place. Thus it may well happen that an 
innovation is carried through at a time when the teachers who supplied 
the arguments in its favor are in their graves, or even—and this is 
well worth noting—when in the world of speculation a movement 
has already set in against ideas which are exerting their full effect 
in the world of action and of legislation. 

Law-making in England is the work of men well advanced in 
life; the politicians who guide the House of Commons, to say nothing 
of the peers who lead the House of Lords, are few of them below 
thirty, and most of them are above forty, years of age. They have 
formed or picked up their convictions, and, what is of more con- 
sequence, their prepossessions, in early manhood, which is the one 
period of life when men are easily impressed with new ideas. Hence 
English legislators retain the prejudices or modes of thinking which 
they acquired in their youth; and when, late in life, they take a share 
in actual legislation, they legislate in accordance with the doctrines 
which were current, either generally or in the society to which the 
law-givers belonged, in the days of their early manhood. The law- 
makers, therefore, of 1850 may give effect to the opinions of 1830, 
whilst the legislators of 1880 are likely enough to impress upon the 
statute book the beliefs of 1860, or rather the ideas which in the one 
case attracted the young men of 1830 and in the other the youth of 
1860. We need not therefore be surprised to find that a current of 
opinion may exert its greatest legislative influence just when its force 
is beginning to decline. ‘The tide turns when at its height; a school 
of thought or feeling which still governs law-makers has begun to 
lose its authority among men of a younger generation who are not 
yet able to influence legislation. 

Fourth, the reigning legislative opinion of the day has never, at 
any rate during the nineteenth century, exerted absolute or despotic 
authority. Its power has always been diminished by the existence 
of counter-currents or cross-currents of opinion which were not in 
harmony with the prevalent opinion of the time. 

A counter-current here means a body of opinion, belief, or senti- 
ment more or less directly opposed to the dominant opinion. of a 
particular era. Counter-currents of this kind have generally been 
supplied by the survival of ideas or convictions which are gradually 





SOCIAL FORCES 451 


losing their hold upon a given generation, and particularly the youth- 
ful part thereof. ‘This kind of “conservatism” which prompts men 
to retain convictions which are losing their hu!ld upon the mass of the 
world is found, it should be remarked, as much among the adherents 
of one religious or political creed as of another. Any Frenchman 
who clung to Protestantism during the reign of Louis the Fourteenth; 
any north-country squire who in the England of the eighteenth cen- 
tury adhered to the Roman Catholicism of his fathers; Samuel 
Johnson, standing forth as a Tory and a High Churchman amongst 
Whigs and Free Thinkers; the Abbé Gregoire, retaining in 1830 the 
attitude and the beliefs of a bishop of that constitutional church of 
France whereof the claims have been repudiated at once by the Church 
and by the State; James Mill, who, though the leader in 1832 of 
philosophic Radicals, the pioneers as they deemed themselves of 
democratic progress, was in truth the last “of the eighteenth century ”’ 
—these are each and all of them examples of that intellectual and 
moral conservatism which everywhere, and especially in England, 
has always been a strong force. ‘The past controls the present. 

Counter-currents, again, may be supplied by new ideals which 
are beginning to influence the young. ‘The hopes or dreams of the 
generation just coming into the field of public life undermine the 
energy of a dominant creed. 

Counter-currents of opinion, whatever their source, have one 
certain and one possible effect. The certain effect is that a check is 
imposed upon the action of the dominant faith. 

Fifth, laws foster or create law-making opinion. ‘This assertion 
may sound, to one who has learned that laws are the outcome of 
public opinion, like a paradox; when properly understood, it is nothing 
but an undeniable, though sometimes neglected, truth. 


B. INTERESTS, SENTIMENTS, AND ATTITUDES oe, 
1 ae” 


1. Social Forces and Interaction! / 
We must guard at the outset against an illusion that has exerted 
a confusing influence. There are no social forces which are not at 
the same time forces lodged in individuals, deriving their energy from 


individuals and operating in and through individuals. There are no - 


t Adapted from Albion W. Small, General Sociology, pp. 532-36. (The Uni- 
versity of Chicago Press, 1905.) 


A 


452 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


social forces that lurk in the containing ether, and affect persons with- 
out the agency of other persons. There are, to be sure, all the physical 
conditions that affect persons just as they affect all other forms of 
matter. So far, these are not social forces at all. They do not get 
to be social forces until they get into persons, and in these persons 
they take the form of feelings which impel them to react upon other 
persons. Persons are thus transmuters of physical forces into social 
forces; but all properly designated social forces are essentially 
personal. They are within some persons, and stimulate them to act 
upon other persons; or they are in other persons, and exert themselves 
as external stimuli upon otherwise inert persons. In either case 
social forces are personal influences passing from person to person 
and producing activities that give content to the association. 

The conception of social forces was never challenged so long as it 
was merely an everyday commonplace. When it passed into tech- 
nical forms of expression, doubts began to be urged. If anyone in 
the United States had questioned the existence of Mrs. Grundy 
fifty years ago, he would have been pitied and ignored as a harmless 
“natural.”’ Social forces in the form of gossip, and personified in 
Mrs. Grundy, were real to everybody. But the particular species 
of social forces which Mrs. Grundy represented were neither more 
nor less real than the other social forces which had no name in folk- 
lore. Persons incessantly influence persons. The modes of this 
influence are indescribably varied. ‘They are conscious and uncon- 
scious, accidental and momentary, or deliberate and persistent; they 
are conventional and continuous, the result of individual habit, or of 
customs crystallized into national or racial institutions. 

The simple fact which the concept “social forces” stands for is 
that every individual acts and is acted upon in countless ways by 
the other persons with whom he associates. ‘These modes of action 
and reaction between persons may be classified, and the more obvious 
and recurrent among them may be enumerated. More than this, 
the action of these social forces may be observed, and the results of 
observation may be organized into social laws. Indeed, there would 
be only two alternatives, if we did not discover the presence and 
action of social forces. On the one hand, social science would at most 
be a subdivision of natural science; on the other hand, the remaining 
alternative would be the impossibility of social science altogether. 


SOCIAL FORCES 453 


But social forces are just as distinctly discernible as chemical 
forces. The fact that we are not familiar with them no more makes 
against their existence and their importance than general ignorance 
of the pressure of the atmosphere takes that phenomenon out of the 
physical world. They are not only the atmosphere but they are a 
very large part of the moral world in general. If we could compose 
a complete account of the social forces, we should at the same time 
have completed, from one point of attention at least, a science of 
everything involved in human society. 

‘All beings which can be said to perform actions do so in obedience 
to those mental states which are denominated desires.”” But we have 
gone back a step beyond the desires and have found it necessary to 
assume the existence of underlying interests. These have to desires 
very nearly the relation of substance to attribute, or, in a different 
figure, of genus to species. Our interests may be beyond or beneath 
our ken; our desires are strong and clear. I may not be conscious 
of my health interests in any deep sense, but the desires that my 
appetites assert are specific and concrete and real. The implicit 
interests, of which we may be very imperfectly aware, move us to 
desires which may correspond well or ill with the real content of the 
interests. At all events, it is these desires which make up the active 
social forces, whether they are more or less harmonious with the inter- 
ests from which they spring. The desires that the persons associating 
actually feel are practically the elemental forces with which we have 
to reckon. They are just as real as the properties of matter. They 
have their ratios of energy, just as certainly as though they were 
physical forces. They have their peculiar modes of action, which 
may be formulated as distinctly as the various modes of chemical 
action. 

_ Every desire that any man harbors is a force making or marring, 
strengthening or weakening, the structure and functions of the society 
of which he is a part. What the human desires are, what their rela- 
tions are to each other, what their peculiar modifications are under 
different circumstances—these are questions of detail which must be 
answered in general by social psychology, and in particular by 
specific analysis of each social situation. The one consideration to 
be urged at this point is that the concept “‘social forces” has a real 
content. It represents reality. There are social forces. They are 


454 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the desires of persons. They range in energy from the vagrant 
whim that makes the individual a temporary discomfort to his group, 
to the inbred feelings that whole races share. It is with these subtle 
forces that social arrangements and the theories of social arrangements 


have to deal. 
2. Interests! 


During the past generation, the conception of the “atom” has 
been of enormous use in physical discovery. Although no one has 
ever seen an atom, the supposition that there are ultimate particles 
of matter in which the “promise and potency” of all physical prop- 
erties and actions reside has served as a means of investigation 
during the most intensive period of research in the history of thought. 
Without the hypothesis of the atom, physics and chemistry, and in 
a secondary sense biology, would have lacked chart and compass 
upon their voyages of exploration. Although the notion of the atom 
is rapidly changing, and the tendency of physical science is to construe 
physical facts in terms of motion rather than of the traditional atom, 
it is probably as needless as it is useless for us to concern ourselves 
as laymen with this refinement. Although we cannot avoid speaking 
of the smallest parts into which matter can be divided, and although 
we cannot imagine, on the other hand, how any portions of matter 
can exist and not be divisible into parts, we are probably quite as 
incapable of saving ourselves from paradox by resort to the vortex 
hypothesis in any form. That is, these subtleties are too wonderful 
for most minds. Without pushing analysis too far, and without 
resting any theory upon analogy with the atom of physical theory, 
it is necessary to find some starting-place from which to trace up the 
composition of sentient beings, just as the physicists assumed that 
they found their starting-place in the atom. The notion of interests 
is accordingly serving the same purpose in sociology which the notion 
of atoms has served in physical science. Interests are the stuff that 
men are made of. More accurately expressed, the last elements to 
which we can reduce the actions of human beings are units which we 
may conveniently name “‘interests.” It is merely inverting the form 
of expression to say: Interests are the simplest modes of motion which 
we can trace in the conduct of human beings. 


* Adapted from Albion W. Small, General Sociology, pp. 425-36. (The Uni- 
versity of Chicago Press, 1905.) 


a 





SOCIAL FORCES 455 


To the psychologist the individual is interesting primarily as a 
center of knowing, feeling, and willing. To the sociologist the indi- 
vidual begins to be interesting when he is thought as knowing, feeling, 
and willing sometiing. In so far asa mere trick of emphasis may serve 
to distinguish problems, this ictus indicates the sociological starting- 
point. The individual given in experience is thought to the point 
at which he is available for sociological assumption, when he is recog- 
nized as a center of activities which make for something outside 
of the psychical series in which volition is a term. ‘These activities 
must be referred primarily to desires, but the . desires themselves 
may be further referred to certain universal interests. In this char- 
acter the individual becomes one of the known or assumed terms of 
sociology. The individual as a center of active interests may be 
thought both as the lowest term in the social equation and as a com- 
posite term whose factors must be understood. ‘These factors are 
either the more evident desires, or the more remote interests which 
the individual’s desires in some way represent. At the same time, 
we must repeat the admission that these assumed interests are like 
the atom of physics. ‘They are the metaphysical recourse of our minds 
in accounting for concrete facts. We have never seen or touched 
them. They are the hypothetical substratum of those regularities 
of conduct which the activities of individuals display. 

We may start with the familiar popular expressions, ‘‘the farm- 
ing interest,” “the railroad interest,” ‘‘the packing interest,” “the 
milling interest,” etc., etc. Everyone knows what the expressions 
mean. Our use of the term “interest” is not co-ordinate with these, 
but it may be approached by means of them. All the “interests” 
that are struggling for recognition in business and in politics are highly 
composite. The owner of a flour mill, for example, is a man before 
he is a miller. He becomes a miller at last because he is a man; Le., 
because he has interests—in a deeper sense than that of the popular 
expressions—which impel him to act in order to gain satisfactions. 
The clue to all social activity is in this fact of individual interests. 
Every act that every man performs is to be traced back to an interest. 
We eat because there is a desire for food; but the desire is set in 
motion by a bodily interest in replacing exhausted force. We sleep 
because we are tired; but the weariness is a function of the 
bodily interest in rebuilding used-up tissue. We play because there 


456 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


is a bodily interest in use of the muscles. We study because there 
is a mental interest in satisfying curiosity. We mingle with our 
fellow-men because there is a mental interest in matching our per- 
sonality against that of others. We go to market to supply an 
economic interest, and to war because of some social interest of 
whatever mixed or simple form. 

With this introduction, we may venture an extremely abstract 
definition of our concept “‘interest.”’ In general, am interest is an 
unsatisfied capacity, corresponding to an unrealized condition, and tt ts 
predisposition to such rearrangement as would tend to realize the indicated 
condition. Human needs and human wants are incidents in the 
series of events between the latent existence of human interest and 
the achievement of partial satisfaction. Human interests, then, are 
the ultimate terms of calculation in sociology. The whole life-process, 
so far as we know it, whether viewed in its individual or in its social 
phase, is at last the process of developing, adjusting, and satisfying 
interests. 

No single term is of more constant use in recent sociology than this 
term “interests.”” We use it in the plural partly for the sake of dis- 
tinguishing it from the same term in the sense which has become so 
familiar in modern pedagogy. ‘The two uses of the term are closely 
related, but they are not precisely identical. The pedagogical 
emphasis is rather on the voluntary attitude toward a possible object 
of attention. The sociological emphasis is on attributes of persons 
which may be compared to the chemical affinities of different ele- 
ments. 

To distinguish the pedagogical from the sociological use of the 
term “interest,” we may say pedagogically of a supposed case: 
“The boy has no interest in physical culture, or in shopwork, or in 
companionship with other boys, or in learning, or in art, or in moral- 
ity.” That is, attention and choice are essential elements of interest 
in the pedagogical sense. On the other hand, we may say of the 
same boy, in the sociological sense: ‘“‘He has not discovered his 
health, wealth, sociability, knowledge, beauty, and rightness inter- 
ests.’ We thus imply that interests, in the sociological sense, are 
not necessarily matters of attention and choice. They are affinities, 
latent in persons, pressing for satisfaction, whether the persons are 
conscious of them either generally or specifically, or not; they are 





SOCIAL FORCES 457 


indicated spheres of activity which persons enter into and occupy in 
the course of realizing their personality. 

Accordingly, we have virtually said that interests are merely 
specifications in the makeup of the personal units. We have several 
times named the most general classes of interests which we find 
serviceable in sociology, viz.: health, wealth, sociability, knowledge, 
beauty, and rightness. 

We need to emphasize, in addition, several considerations about 
these interests which are the motors of all individual and social action. 
First, there is a subjective and an objective aspect of them all. It 
would be easy to use terms of these interests in speculative arguments 
in such a way as to shift the sense fallaciously from the one aspect 
to the other; e.g., moral conduct, as an actual adjustment of the 
person in question with other persons, is that person’s “interest,” 
in the objective sense. On the other hand, we are obliged to think 
of something in the person himself impelling him, however uncon- 
sciously, toward that moral conduct, i.e., interest as ‘‘ unsatisfied capa- 
city” in the subjective sense. So with each of the other interests. The 
fact that these two senses of the term are always concerned must never 
be ignored; but, until we reach refinements of analysis which demand 
use for these discriminations, they may be left out of sight. Second, 
human interests pass more and more from the latent, subjective, 
unconscious state to the active, objective, conscious form. ‘That is, 
before the baby is self-conscious, the baby’s essential interest in 
bodily well-being is operating in performance of the organic functions. 
A little later the baby is old enough to understand that certain regula- 
tion of his diet, certain kinds of work or play, will help to make and 
keep him well and strong. Henceforth there is in him a co-operation 
of interest in the fundamental sense, and interest in the derived, 
secondary sense, involving attention and choice. If we could agree 
upon the use of terms, we might employ the word “desire” for this 
development of interest; i.e., physiological performance of function is, 
strictly speaking, the health interest; the desires which men actually 
pursue within the realm of bodily function may be normal or per- 
verted, in an infinite scale of varicty. So with each of the other inter- 
ests. Third;—with these qualifications provided for, resolution of 
human activities into pursuit of differentiated interests becomes 
the first clue to the combination that unlocks the mysteries of society. 


458 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


For our purposes in this argument we need not trouble ourselves 
very much about nice metaphysical distinctions between the aspects 
of interest, because we have mainly to do with interests in the same 
sense in which the man of affairs uses the term. ‘The practical 
politician looks over the lobby at Washington and he classifies the 
elements that compose it. He says: ‘Here is the railroad interest, 
the sugar interest, the labor interest, the army interest, the canal 
interest, the Cuban interest, etc.”’ He uses the term ‘“interest”’ 
essentially in the sociological sense but in a relatively concrete form, 
and he has in mind little more than variations of the wealth interest. 
He would explain the legislation of a given session as the final balance 
between these conflicting pecuniary interests. He is right, in the 
main; and every social action is, in the same way, an accommoda- 
tion of the various interests which are represented in the society 
concerned. 


3. Social Pressures’ 


The phenomena of government are from start to finish phenomena 
of force. But force is an objectionable word. I prefer to use the 
word pressure instead of force, since it keeps the attention closely 
directed upon the groups themselves, instead of upon any mystical 
“realities”’ assumed to be underneath and supporting them, and 
since its connotation is not limited to the narrowly “physical.” We 
frequently talk of “bringing pressure to bear” upon someone, and 
we can use the word here with but slight extension beyond this 
common meaning. 

Pressure, as we shall use it, is always a group phenomenon. It 
indicates the push and resistance between groups. The balance of 
the group pressures zs the existing state of society. Pressure is 
broad enough to include all forms of the group influence upon group, 
from battle and riot to abstract reasoning and sensitive morality. It 
takes up into itself ‘moral energy” and the finest discriminations 
of conscience as easily as bloodthirsty lust of power. It allows for 
humanitarian movements as easily as for political corruption. The 
tendencies to activity are pressures, as well as the more visible 
activities. 


* Adapted from Arthur F. Bentley, The Process of Government, pp. 258-381. 
(The University of Chicago Press, 1908.) 





SOCIAL FORCES 459 


All phenomena of government are phenomena of groups pressing 
one another, forming one another, and pushing out new groups and 
group representatives (the organs or agencies of government) to 
mediate the adjustments. It is only as we isolate these group activi- 
ties, determine their representative values, and get the whole process 
stated in terms of them that we approach to a satisfactory knowledge 
of government. 

When we take such an agency of government as a despotic ruler, 
we cannot possibly advance to an understanding of him except in 
terms of the group activities of his society which are most directly 
represented through him, along with those which almost seem not 
to be represented through him at all, or to be represented to a different 
degree or ina different manner. And it is the same with democracies, 
even in their “purest”? and simplest forms, as well as in their most 
complicated forms. We cannot fairly talk of despotisms or of 
democracies as though they were absolutely distinct types of govern- 
ment to be contrasted offhand with each other or with other types. All 
depends for each despotism and each democracy and each other form of 
government on the given interests, their relations, and their methods 
of interaction. The interest groups create the government and 
work through it; the government, as activity, works “for” the groups; 
the government, from the viewpoint of certain of the groups, may 
at times be their private tool; the government, from the viewpoint 
of others of the groups, seems at times their deadly enemy; but the 
process is all one, and the joint participation is always present, 
however it may be phrased in public opinion or clamor. 

It is convenient most of the time in studying government to talk 
of these groups as interests. But I have already indicated with suffi- 
cient clearness that the interest is nothing other than the group 
activity itself. The words by which we name the interests often 
give the best expression to the value of the group activities in terms 
of other group activities: if I may be permitted that form of phras- 
ing, they are more qualitative than quantitative in their implications. 
But that is sometimes a great evil as well as sometimes an advantage. 
We must always remember that there is nothing in the interests 
purely because of themselves and that we can depend on them only 
as they stand for groups which are acting or tending toward activity 
or pressing themselves along in their activity with other groups. 
ie 





460 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


When we get the group activities on the lower planes worked out 
and show them as represented in various forms of higher groups, 
culminating in the political groups, then we make progress in our 
interpretations. Always and everywhere our study must be a study 
of the interests that work through government; otherwise we have 
not got down to facts. Nor will it suffice to take a single interest 
group and base our interpretation upon it, not even for a special time 
and a special place. No interest group has meaning except with 
reference to other interest groups; and those other interest groups 
are pressures; they count in the government process. The lowest 
of despised castes, deprived of rights to the protection of property 
and even life, will still be found to be a factor in the government, if 
only we can sweep the whole field and measure the caste in its true 
degree of power, direct or represented, in its potentiality of harm to 
the higher castes, and in its identification with them for some impor- 
tant purposes, however deeply hidden from ordinary view. No slaves, 
not the worst abused of all, but help to form the government. They 
are an interest group within it. 

Tested by the interest groups that function through them, legisla- 
tures are of two general types. First are those which represent one 
class or set of classes in the government as opposed to some other 
class, which is usually represented in a monarch. Second are those 
which are not the exclusive stronghold of one class or set of classes, 
but are instead the channel for the functioning of all groupings of the 
population. ‘The borders between the two types are of course indis- 
tinct, but they approximate closely to the borders between a society 
with class organization and one with classes broken down into freer 
and more changeable group interests. 

Neither the number of chambers in the legislative body nor the 
constitutional relations of the legislature to the executive can serve 
to define the two types. ‘The several chambers may represent several 
classes, or again the double-chamber system may be in fact merely 
a technical division, with the same interests present in both chambers. 
The executive may be a class representative, or merely a co-ordinate 
organ, dividing with the legislature the labor of providing channels 
through which the same lot of manifold interest groups can work. 

It lies almost on the surface that a legislature which is a class 
agency will produce results in accordance with the class pressure 





SOCIAL FORCES 401 


behind it. Its existence has been established by struggle, and its 
life is a continual struggle against the representatives of the opposite 
class. Of course there will be an immense deal of argument to be 
heard on both sides, and the argument will involve the setting forth 
of “‘reasons”’ in limitless number. It is indeed because of the advan- 
tages (in group terms, of course) of such argument as a technical 
means of adjustment that the legislative bodies survive. Argument 
under certain conditions is a greater labor-saver than blows, and in 
it the group interests more fully unfold themselves. But beneath all 
the argument lies the strength. The arguments go no farther than 
the strength goes. What the new Russian duma will get, if it sur- 
vives, will be what the people it solidly represents are strong enough 
to make it get, and no more and no less, with bombs and finances, 
famine and corruption funds alike in the scale. 

But the farther we advance among legislatures of the second 
type, and the farther we get away from the direct appeal to muscle 
and weapon, the more difficult becomes the analysis of the group 
components, the greater is the prominence that falls to the process of 
argumentation, the more adroitly do the group forces mask themselves 
in morals, ideals, and phrases, the more plausible becomes the inter- 
pretation of the legislature’s work as a matter of reason, not of pressure, 
and the more common it is to hear condemnations of those portions 
of the process at which violence shows through the reasoning as though 
they were per se perverted, degenerate, and the bearers of ruin. 
There is, of course, a strong, genuine group opposition to the tech- 
nique of violence, which is an important social fact; but a statement 
of the whole legislative process in terms of the discussion forms used 
by that anti-violence interest group is wholly inadequate. 


4. Idea-Forces' 


The principle that I assume at the outset is that every idea tends 
to act itself out. If it is an isolated idea, or if it is not counter- 
balanced by a stronger force, its realization must take place. Thus 
the principle of the struggle for existence and of selection, taking 
the latter word in its broadest sense, is in my opinion as applicable 
to ideas as to individuals and living species; a selection takes place 


| t Adapted from Alfred Fouillée, Education from a National Stand point, 
pp. 10-16. (D. Appleton & Co., 1897.) 





462 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in the brain to the advantage of the strongest and most exclusive 
idea, which is thus able to control the whole organism. In particular, 
the child’s brain is an arena of conflict for ideas and the impulses they 
include; in the brain the new idea is a new force which encounters 
the ideas already installed, and the impulses already developed therein. 
Assume a mind, as yet a blank, and suddenly introduce into it the 


representation of any movement, the idea of any action—such as 


raising the arm. ‘This idea being isolated and unopposed, the wave 
of disturbance arising in the brain will take the direction of the arm, 
because the nerves terminating in the arm are disturbed by the repre- 
sentation of the arm. The arm will therefore be lifted. Before a 


movement begins, we must think of this; now no movement that has. 


taken place is lost; it is necessarily communicated from the brain to 
the organs if unchecked by any other representation or impulse. 
The transmission of the idea to the limbs is inevitable as long as the 
idea is isolated or unopposed. This I have called the law of idea- 
forces, and I think I have satisfactorily explained the curious facts in 
connection with the impulsive actions of the idea. 

The well-known experiments of Chevreul on the “‘pendule explora- 
teur,”’ and on the divining rod, show that if we represent to ourselves 
a movement in a certain direction, the hand will finally execute this 
movement without our consciousness, and so will transmit it to the 
instrument. Table-turning is the realization of the expected move- 
ment by means of the unconscious motion of the hands. ‘Thought- 
reading is the interpretation of imperceptible movements, in which 
the thought of the subject betrays itself, even without his being 
conscious of it. In the process that goes on when we are fascinated 
or on the point of fainting, a process more obvious in children than 
in adults, there is an inchoate movement which the paralysis of the 
will fails to check. When I was a lad, I was once running over a plank 
across the weir of a river, it never entering my head that I ran any 
risk of falling; suddenly this idea came into play like a force obliquely 


compounded with the straight course of thought which had up to that — 


moment been guiding my footsteps. I felt as if an invisible arm had 
seized me and was dragging me down. Ishrieked and stood trembling 
above the foaming water until assistance came. Here the mere idea 
of vertigo produced vertigo. A plank on the ground may be crossed 


without arousing any idea of falling; but if it is above a precipice, — 


ee ws 





SOCIAL FORCES 463 


and we think of the distance below, the impulse to fall is very strong. 
‘Even when we are in perfect safety we may feel what is known as 
the “fascination” of a precipice. ‘The sight of the gulf below, becom- 
ing a fixed idea, produces a resultant inhibition on all other ideas. 
Temptation, which is always besetting a child because everything 
is new to it, is nothing but the power of an idea and its motor impulse. 

The power of an idea is the greater, the more prominently it is 
singled out from the general content of consciousness. ‘This selec- 
tion of an idea, which becomes so exclusive that the whole conscious- 
ness is absorbed in it, is called monoideism. ‘This state is precisely 
that of a person who has been hypnotized. What is called hypnotic 
suggestion is nothing but the artificial selection of one idea to the 
exclusion of all others, so that it passes into action. Natural somnam- 
bulism similarly exhibits the force of ideas; whatever idea is conceived 
by the somnambulist, he carries into action. The kind of dream in 
which children often live is not without analogy to somnambulism. 
The fixed idea is another instance of the same phenomenon, which is 
produced in the waking state, and which, when exaggerated, becomes 
monomania, a kind of morbid monoideism; children, having very 
few ideas, would very soon acquire fixed ideas, if it were not for the 
mobility of attention which the ceaseless variation of the surrounding 
world produces in them. ‘Thus all the facts grouped nowadays under 
the name of auto-suggestion may, in my opinion, be explained. Here 
we shall generalize the law in this form: every idea conceived by the 
mind is an auto-suggestion, the selective effect of which is only counter- 
balanced by other ideas producing a different auto-suggestion. This 
is especially noticeable in the young, who so rapidly carry into action 
what is passing through their minds. 

The philosophers of the seventeenth century, with Descartes and 
Pascal, considered sentiments and passions as indistinct thoughts, as 
“thoughts, as it were, in process of precipitation.” ‘This is true. 
Beneath all our sentiments lies a totality of imperfectly analyzed ideas, 
a swelling stream of crowded and indistinct reasons by the momentum 
of which we are carried away and swept along. Inversely, sentiments 
underlie all our ideas; they smoulder in the dying embers of abstrac- 
tions. Even language has a power because it arouses all the senti- 
ments which it condenses in a formula; the mere names “honor” 
and ‘“‘duty”’ arouse infinite echoes in the consciousness. At the name 


464 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of “honor” alone, a legion of images is on the point of surging up; 
vaguely, as with eyes open in the dark, we see all the possible witnesses 
of our acts, from father and mother to friends and fellow-countrymen; 
further, if our imagination is vivid: enough, we can see those great 
ancestors who did not hesitate under similar circumstances. ‘We 
must; forward!’ We feel that we are enrolled in an army of gallant 
men; the whole race, in its most heroic representatives, is urging 
us on. There is a social and even a historical element beneath 
moral ideas. Besides, language, a social product, is also a social force. 
The pious mind goes farther still; duty is personified as a being— 
the living Good whose voice we hear. 

Some speak of lifeless formulas; of these there are very few. A 
word, an idea, is a formula of possible action and of sentiments ready 
to pass into acts; they are ‘“‘verbs.”” Now, every sentiment, every 
impulse which becomes formulated with, as it were, a fiat, acquires 
by this alone a new and quasi-creative force; it is not merely rendered 
visible by its own light to itself but it is defined, specified, and selected 
from the rest, and tpso facto directed in its course. That is why 
formulas relative to action are so powerful for good or evil; a child 
feels a vague temptation, a tendency for which it cannot account. 
_ Pronounce in its hearing the formula, change the blind impulse into 
the luminous idea, and this will be a new suggestion which may, per- 
haps, cause it to fall in the direction to which it was already inclined. 
On the other hand, some formulas of generous sentiments will carry 
away a vast audience immediately they are uttered. The genius is 
often the man who translates the aspirations of his age into ideas; 
at the sound of his voice a whole nation is moved. Great moral, 
religious, and social revolutions ensue when the sentiments, long 
restrained and scarcely conscious of their own existence, become 
formulated into ideas and words; the way is then opened, the means 
and the goal are visible alike, selection takes place, all the volitions 
are simultaneously guided in the same direction, like a torrent which 
has found the weakest point in the dam. 


5. Sentiments! 


We seldom experience the primary emotions in the pure or unmixed 
forms in which they are commonly manifested by the animals. Our 


* Adapted from William McDougall, An Introduction to Social Psychology, 
pp. 121-64. (John W. Luce & Co., 1916.) : 





SOCIAL FORCES 465 


emotional states commonly arise from the simultaneous excitement 
of two or more of the instinctive dispositions; and the majority of 
the names currently used to denote our various emotions are the 
names of such mixed, secondary, or complex emotions. That the great 
variety of our emotional states may be properly regarded as the 
result of the compounding of a relatively small number of primary 
or simple emotions is no new discovery. Descartes, for example, 
recognized only six primary emotions, or passions as he termed them, 
namely—admiration, love, hatred, desire, joy, and sadness, and he 
wrote, “All the others are composed of some out of these six and 
derived from them.’ He does not seem to have formulated any 
principles for the determination of the primaries and the distinction 
of them from the secondaries. 

The compounding of the primary emotions is largely, though not 
wholly, due to the existence of sentiments, and some of the complex 
emotional processes can only be generated from sentiments. Before 
going on to discuss the complex emotions, we must therefore try to 
understand as clearly as possible the nature of a sentiment. 

The word ‘‘sentiment”’ is still used in several different senses. 
M. Ribot and other French authors use its French equivalent as 
covering all the feelings and emotions, as the most general name for 
the affective aspect of mental processes. We owe to Mr. A. F. Shand 
the recognition of features of our mental constitution of a most 
important kind that have been strangely overlooked by other psy- 
chologists, and the application of the word “sentiments” to denote 
features of this kind. Mr. Shand points out that our emotions, or, 
more strictly speaking, our emotional dispositions, tend to become 
organized in systems about the various objects and classes of objects 
that excite them. Such an organized system of emotional tendencies 
is not a fact or mode of experience, but is a feature of the complexly 
organized structure of the mind that underlies all our mental activity. 
To such an organized system of emotional tendencies centered about 
some object Mr. Shand proposes to apply the name “sentiment.” 
This application of the word is in fair accordance with its usage in 
popular speech, and there can be little doubt that it will rapidly be 
adopted by psychologists. 

The organization of the sentiments in the developing mind is 
determined by the course of experience; that is to say, the sentiment 


466 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


is a growth in the structure of the mind that is not natively given in 
the inherited constitution. This is certainly true in the main, though 
the maternal sentiment might almost seem to be innate; but we have 
to remember that in the human mother this sentiment may, and 
generally does, begin to graw up about the idea of its object, before 
the child is born. 

The growth of the sentiments is of the utmost importance for the 
character and conduct of individuals and of societies; it is the organi- 
zation of the affective and conative life. In the absence of sentiments 
our emotional life would be a mere chaos, without order, consistency, 
or continuity of any kind; and all our social relations and conduct, 
being based on the emotions and their impulses, would be corre- 
spondingly chaotic, unpredictable, and unstable. It is only through 
the systematic organization of the emotional dispositions in sentiments 
that the volitional control of the immediate promptings of the emo- 
tions is rendered possible. Again, our judgments of value and of 
merit are rooted in our sentiments; and our moral principles have 
the same source, for they are formed: by our judgments of moral value. 

The sentiments may be classified according to the nature of their 
objects; they then fall into three main classes: the concrete particular, 
the concrete general, and the abstract sentiments—e.g., the sentiment 
of love for a child, of love for children in general, of love for justice or 
virtue. Their development in the individual follows this order, the 
concrete particular sentiments being, of course, the earliest and most 
easily acquired. The number of sentiments a man may acquire, 
reckoned according to the number of objects in which they are cen- 
tered, may, of course, be very large; but almost every man has a 
small number of sentiments—perhaps one only—that greatly surpass 
all the rest in strength and as regards the proportion of his conduct 
that springs from them. . 

Each sentiment has a life-history, like every other vital organi- 
zation. It is gradually built up, increasing in complexity and strength 
and may continue to grow indefinitely, or may enter upon a period of 
decline, and may decay slowly or rapidly, partially or completely. 

When any one of the emotions is strongly or repeatedly excited 
by a paiticular object, there is formed the rudiment of a sentiment. 
Suppose that a child is thrown into the company of some person given 
to frequent outbursts of violent anger, say, a violent-tempered father 








SOCIAL FORCES 467 


who is otherwise indifferent to the child and takes no further notice 
of him than to threaten, scold, and, perhaps, beat him. At first the 
child experiences fear at each exhibition of violence, but repetition 
of these incidents very soon creates the habit of fear, and in the 
presence of his father, even in his mildest moods, the child is timorous; 
that is to say, the mere presence of the father throws the child’s fear- 
disposition into a condition of sub-excitement, which increases on 
the slightest occasion until it produces all the subjective and objective 
manifestations of fear. Asa further stage, the mere idea of the father 
becomes capable of producing the same effects as his presence; this 
idea has become associated with the emotion; or, in stricter language, 
the psychophysical disposition whose excitement involves the rise to 
consciousness of this idea, has become associated or intimately con- 
nected with the psychophysical disposition whose excitement produces 
the bodily and mental symptoms of fear. Such an association con- 
stitutes a rudimentary sentiment that we can only call a sentiment 
of fear. 

In a similar way, a single act of kindness done by A to B may 
evoke in B the emotion of gratitude; and if A repeats his kindly acts, 
conferring benefits on B, the gratitude of B may become habitual, 
may become an enduring emotional attitude of B towards A—a 
sentiment of gratitude. Or, in either case, a single act—one evoking 
very intense fear or gratitude—may suffice to render the association 
more or less durable and the attitude of fear, or gratitude, of B toward 
A more or less permanent. | 


6. Social Attitudes? 


“Consciousness,” says Jacques Loeb, “is only a metaphysical 
term for phenomena which are determined by associative memory. 
By associative memory I mean that mechanism by which a stimulus 
brings about not only the effects which its nature and the specific 
structure of the irritable organ call for, but by which it brings about 
also the effects of other stimuli which formerly acted upon the organism 
almost or quite simultaneously with the stimulus in question. If an 
animal can be trained, if it can learn, it possesses associative memory.”’ 
In short, because we have memories we are able to profit by experi- 
ences. 


*From Robert E. Park, Principles of Human Behavior, pp. 18-34. (The 
Zalaz Corporation, 1915.) 


b) 


A/ 
ae 
7) 


a 


468 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It is the memories that determine, on the whole, what objects — 


shall mean to us, and how we shall behave toward them. We cannot 
say, however, that a perception or an object is ever wholly without 
meaning to us. ‘The flame to which the child stretches out its hand 
means, even before he has any experience of it, ““something to be 
reached for, something to be handled.” After the first experience of 
touching it, however, it means “‘something naturally attractive but still 
to be avoided.” Each new experience, so far as it is preserved in 
memory, adds new meanings to the objects with which it is associated. 

Our perceptions and our ideas embody our experiences of objects 
and so serve as signs of what we may expect of them. ‘They are the 
means by which we are enabled to control our behavior toward them. 
On the other hand, if we lose our memories, either temporarily or 
permanently, we lose at the same time our control over our actions 
and are still able to respond to objects, but only in accordance with our 
inborn tendencies. After all our memories are gone, we still have 
our original nature to fall back upon. 

There is a remarkable case reported by Sidis and Goodhart which 
illustrates the réle that memory plays in giving us control over our 
inherited tendencies. It is that of Rev. Thomas C. Hanna, who, 
while attempting to alight from a carriage, lost his footing, fell to the 
ground and was picked up unconscious. When he awoke it was found 
that he had not only lost the faculty of speech but -he had lost all 
voluntary control of his limbs. He had forgotten how to walk. He 
had not lost his senses. He could feel and see, but he was not able to 
distinguish objects. He had no sense of distance. He was in a state 
of complete ‘‘mental blindness.” At first he did not distinguish 
- between his own movements and those of other objects. “He was as 
much interested in the movements of his own limbs as in that of 
external things.” Hehad noconception of time. ‘‘Seconds, minutes, 
and hours were alike to him.”’ He felt hunger but he did not know 
how to interpret the feeling and had no notion of how to satisfy it. 
When food was offered him he did not know what to do'with it. In 
order to get him to swallow food it had to be placed! far back in his 
throat, in order to provoke reflex swallowing movements. In their 
report of the case the authors say: 

Like an infant, he did not know the meaning of the simplest words, 
nor did he understand the use of language. Imitation was the factor in 


_—_ 





SOCIAL FORCES 469 


his first education. He learned the meaning of words by imitating definite 
articulate sounds made in connection with certain objects and activities. 
The pronunciation of words and their combination into whole phrases he 
acquired in the same imitative way. At first he simply repeated any word 
and sentence heard, thinking that this meant something to others. This 
manner of blind repetition and unintelligent imitation was, however, soon 
given up, and he began systematically to learn the meaning of words in 
connection with the objective content they signified. As in the case of 
children who, in their early developmental stage, use one word to indicate 
many objects different in their nature, but having some common point of 
superficial resemblance, so was it in the case of Mr. Hanna: the first word 
he acquired was used by him to indicate all the objects he wanted. 


The first word he learned was “apple” and for a time apple was 
the only word he knew. At first he learned only the names of par- 
ticular objects. He did not seem able to learn words with an abstract 
or general significance. But although he was reduced to a state of 
mental infancy, his “intelligence”? remained, and he learned with 
astonishing rapidity. ‘His faculty of judgment, his power of reason- 
ing, were as sound and vigorous as ever,’’ continues thereport. “The 
content of knowledge seemed to have been lost, but the form of knowl- 
edge remained as active as before the accident and was perhaps even 
more precise and definite.” 

One reason why man is superior to the brutes is probably that he 
has a better natural memory. Another reason is that there are more 
things that he can do, and so he has an opportunity to gain a wider and 
more varied experience. Consider what a man can do with his hands! 
To this he has added tools and machinery, which are an extension of 
the hand and have multiplied its powers enormously. It is now 
pretty well agreed, however, that the chief advantage which mankind 
has over the brutes is in the possession of speech by which he can 
communicate his ideas. In comparatively recent times he has supple- 
mented this means of communication by the invention of the printing 
press, the telegraph, and the telephone. In this way he has been 
able not only to communicate his experiences but to fund and trans- 
mit them from one generation to another. 

As soon as man began to point out objects and associate them 
with vocal sounds, he had obtained possession of a symbol by which 
he was able to deliberately communicate his desires and his intentions 


470 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


to other men in a more precise and definite way than he had been able 
to do through the medium of spontaneous emotional expression. 

The first words, we may suppose, were onomatopoetic, that is to 
say, vocal imitations of the objects to which they referred. At any 
rate they arose spontaneously in connection with the situation that 
inspired them. They were then imitated by others and thus became 
the common and permanent possession of the group. Language 
thus assumed for the group the réle of perception in the individual. 
It became the sign and symbol of those meanings which were the 
common possession of the group. 

As the number of such symbols was relatively small in com- 
parison to the number of ideas, words inevitably came to have dif- 
ferent meanings in different contexts. In the long run the effect of this 
was to detach the words from the particular contexts in which they 
arose and loosen their connections with the particular sentiments and 
attitudes with which they were associated. ‘They came to have thus 
a more distinctively symbolic and formal character. It was thus pos- 
sible to give them more precise definitions, to make of them abstrac- 
tions and mental toys, which the individual could play with freely and 
disinterestedly. Like the child who builds houses with blocks, he was 
able to arrange them in orders and systems, create ideal structures, 


like the constructions of mathematics, which he was then able to 


employ as means of ordering and systematizing*his more concrete 
experiences. - . 

All this served to give the individual a more complete control 
over his own experience and that of the group. It made it possible 
to analyze and classify his own experiences and compare them with 
those of his fellows and so, eventually, to erect the vast structure of 
formal and scientific knowledge on the basis of which men are able 
to live and work together in co-operation upon the structure of a 
common civilization. ; 

The point is that the breadth of the experience over which man 
has control and the disinterestedness with which he is able to view it 
is the basis of the intellectual attainment of the individual, as of the 
race. 

If human beings were thoroughly rational creatures, we may 
presume that they would act, at every instant, on the basis of all 
their experience and all the knowledge that they were able to obtain 


~ 





SOCIAL FORCES | 471 


from the experience of others. The truth is, however, that we are 
never able, at any one time, to mobilize, control, and use all the 
experience and all the knowledge that we nov’ possess and which, if 
we were less human than we are, might serve to guide and control 
our actions. It is precisely the function of science to collect, organize, 
and make available for our practical uses the fund of experience and 
of knowledge we do possess. — 

Not only do we already have more knowledge than we can use, 
but much of our personal and individual experience drops out and is 
lost in the course of a lifetime. Meanwhile, later experiences are 
constantly adding themselves to the earlier ones. In this way the 
meaning of the world is constantly changing for us, much as the surface 
of the earth is constantly under the influence of the weather. 

The actual constellation of our memories and ideas is determined 
at any given moment not merely by processes of association but also 
by processes of dissociation. Practical interests, sentiments, and 
emotional outbursts—love, fear, and anger—are constantly inter- 
rupting the logical: and constructive processes of the mind. These 
forces tend to dissolve established connections between ideas and 
disintegrate our memories so that they rarely function as a whole 
or as a unit, but rather as more or less dissociated systems. 

The mere act of attention, for example, so far as it focuses the 
activities upon a single object, tends to narrow the range of assuci- 
ations, check deliberation, and, by isolating one idea or system of 
ideas, prepares us to act in accordance with them without regard to 
the demands of other ideas in the wider but now suppressed context 
of our experience. ‘The isolation of one group of ideas implies the 
suppression of other groups which are inconsistent with them or 
hinder the indicated action. 

When the fundamental instinct-emotions are aroused, they 
invariably have the effect of isolating the ideas with which they are 
associated and of inhibiting the contrary emotions. This is the 
explanation of war. When the fighting instincts are stirred, men 
lose the fear of death and the horror of killing. 

When an idea, particularly one that is associated with some 
original tendency of human nature, is thus isolated in conscious- 
ness, the tendency is to respond to it automatically, just as one 
would respond to a simple reflex. This explains the phenomena of 


472 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


suggestion. A state of suggestibility is always a pre-condition of 
suggestion, and suggestibility means just such an isolation and 
dissociation of the suggested idea as has been described. Hypnotic 
trance may be defined as a condition of abnormal suggestibility, in 
which the subject tends to carry out automatically the commands of 
the experimenter, “‘as if,’’ as the familiar phrase puts it, ‘“he had no 
will of his own,” or rather, as if the will of the experimenter had 
been substituted for that of the subject. In fact the phenomena 
of auto-suggestion, in which one obeys his own suggestion, seems to 
differ from other forms of the same phenomena only in the fact that 
the subject obeys his own commands instead of those of the experi- 
menter. Not only suggestion and auto-suggestion, but imitation, 
which is nothing more than another form of suggestion, are made 
possible by the existence of mental mechanisms created by dissociation. 

Hypnotism represents an extreme but temporary form of dis- 
sociation of the memories, artificially produced. Fascination and 
abstraction (absent-mindness) are milder forms of the same phe- 
nomena with this difference, that they occur ‘‘in nature” and without 
artificial stimulation. 

A more permanent dissociation is represented in moods. The 
memories which connect themselves with moods are invariably such 
as will support the dominant emotion. At the same time memories 
which tend in any way to modify the prevailing tone of the mood 
are spontaneously suppressed. 

It is a familiar fact that persons whose occupations or whose 
mode of life brings them habitually into different worlds, so that the 
experiences in one have little or nothing in common with those of 
the other, inevitably develop something akin to a dual personality. 
The business man, for example, is one person in the city and another 
at his home in the suburbs. 

The most striking and instructive instances of dissociation, how-: 
ever, are the cases of dual or multiple personality in which the same 
individual lives successively or simultaneously two separate lives, 
each of which is wholly oblivious of the other. ‘The classic instance 
of this kind is the case of the Rev. Ansel Bourne reported by William 
James in his Principles of Psychology. Ansel Bourne was an itinerant 
preacher living at Greene, Rhode Island. On January 19, 1887, he 
drew $551.00 from a bank in Providence and entered a Pawtucket 


SOCIAL FORCES 473 


horse car and disappeared. He was advertised as missing, foul play 
being suspected. 

On the morning of March 24, at Norristown, Pennsylvania, a 
man calling himself A. J. Brown awoke in a fright and called on the 
people of the house to tell him who he was. Later he said he was 
Ansel Bourne. Nothing was known of him in Norristown except 
that six weeks before he had rented a small shop, stocked it with 
stationery, confectionery, and other small articles, and was carrying © 
on a quiet trade “‘ without seeming to anyone unnatural or eccentric.” 
At first it was thought he was insane, but his story was confirmed 
and he was returned to his home. It was then deemed that he had 
lost all memory of the period which had elapsed since he boarded the 
Pawtucket car. What he had done or where he had been between 
the time he left Providence and arrived in Norristown, no one had 
the slightest information. 

In 1890 he was induced by William James to submit to hypnotism 
in order to see whether in his trance state his ‘‘ Brown’? memories 
would come back. The experiment was so successful that, as James 
remarks, “‘it proved quite impossible to make him, while in hypnosis, 
remember any of the facts of his normal life.” The report continues: 


He had heard of Ansel Bourne, but “didn’t know as he had ever met 
the man.” When confronted with Mrs. Bourne he said that he had “never 
seen the woman before,” etc. On the other hand, he told of his peregrina- 
tions during the lost fortnight, and gave all sorts of details about the 
Norristown episode. The whole thing was prosaic enough; and the Brown- 
personality seems to be nothing but a rather shrunken, dejected, and 
amnesic extract of Mr. Bourne himself. He gave no motive for the wan- 
dering except that there was ‘‘trouble back there” and he “wanted rest.” 
During the trance he looks old, the corners of his mouth are drawn down, 
his voice is slow and weak, and he sits screening his eyes and trying vainly 
to remember what lay before and after the two months of the Brown 
experience. “I’m all hedged in,” he says, ‘“‘I can’t get out at either end. 


_. I don’t know what set me down in that Pawtucket horse-car, and I don’t 





know how I ever left that store or what became of it.’”’ His eyes are prac-| 
tically normal, and all his sensibilities (save for tardier response) about 
the same in hypnosis as in waking. I had hoped by suggestion to run the 
two personalities into one, and make the memories continuous, but no 
artifice would avail to accomplish this, and Mr. Bourne’s skull today still 
covers two distinct personal selves. 


474 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


An interesting circumstance with respect to this case and others 
is that the different personalities, although they inhabit the same 
body and divide between them the experiences of a single individual, 
not only regard themselves as distinct and independent persons but 
they exhibit marked differences in character, temperament, and 
tastes, and frequently profess for one another a decided antipathy. 
The contrasts in temperament and character displayed by these 
‘ split-off personalities are illustrated in the case of Miss Beauchamp, 
to whose strange and fantastic history Morton Prince has devoted a 
volume of nearly six hundred pages. 

In this case, the source of whose morbidity was investigated 
by means of hypnotism, not less than three distinct personalities in 
addition to that of the original and real Miss Beauchamp were 
evolved. Each one of these was distinctly different and decidedly 
antipathetic to the others. 

Pierre Janet’s patient, Madam B, however, is the classic illustra- 
tion of this dissociated personality. From the time she was sixteen 
years of age, Léonie, as she was called, had been so frequently hyp- 
notized and subjected to so much clinical experimentation that a 
well-organized secondary personality was elaborated, which was 
designated as Léontine. Léonie was a poor peasant woman, serious, 
timid, and melancholy. Léontine was gay, noisy, restless, and ironi- 
cal. Léontine did not recognize that she had any relationship with 
Léonie, whom she referred to as “‘that good woman,” “the other,” 
who “is not I, she is too stupid.”’ Eventually a third personality, 
known as Léonore, appeared who did not wish to be mistaken for 
either that ‘good but stupid woman” Léonie, nor for the “foolish 
babbler”’ Léontine. 

Of these personalities Léonie possessed only her own memories, 
Léontine possessed the memories of Léonie and her own, while the 
memories of Léonore, who was superior to them both, included 
Madam B’s whole life. 

What is particularly interesting in connection with this phenome- 
non of multiple personality is the fact that it reveals in a striking way 
the relation of the subconscious to the conscious. The term sub- 
conscious, as it occurs in the literature of psychology, is a word of 
various meanings. In general, however, we mean by subconscious a 
region of consciousness in which the dissociated memories, the 


SOCIAL FORCES 475 





“suppressed complexes,”’ as they are called, maintain some sort of 
conscious existence and exercise an indirect though very positive 
influence upon the ideas in the focus of consciousness, and so upon the 
behavior of the individual. The subconscious, in short, is the region 
of the suppressed memories. They are suppressed because they have 
come into conflict with the dominant complex in consciousness which 
represents the personality of the individual. 

“Emotional conflicts” have long been the theme of literary 
analysis and discussion. In recent years they have become the sub- 
ject of scientific investigation. In fact a new school of medical psy- 
chology with a vast literature has grown up around and out of the 
investigations of the effects of the suppression of a single instinct— 
the sexual impulse. A whole class of nervous disorders, what are 
known as psychoneuroses, are directly attributed by Dr. Sigmund 
Freud and the psychoanalytic school, as it is called, to these suppres- 
sions, many of which consist of memories that go back to the period 
of early childhood before the sexual instinct had attained the form that 
it has in adults. 

The theory of Freud, stated briefly, amounts to this: As a result 
of emotional conflicts considerable portions of the memories of certain 
individuals, with the motor impulses connected with them, are thrust 
into the background of the mind, that is to say, the subconscious. 
Such suppressed memories, with the connected motor dispositions, 
he first named ‘‘suppressed complexes.”’ Now it is found that these 
suppressed complexes, which no longer respond to stimulations as 
they would under normal conditions, may still exercise an indirect 
influence upon the ideas which are in the focus of consciousness. 
Under certain conditions they may not get into consciousness at all 
but manifest themselves, for example, in the form of hysterical tics, 
twitchings, and muscular convulsions. 

Under other circumstances the ideas associated with the sup- 
pressed complexes tend to have a dominating and controlling place 
in the life of the individual. All our ideas that have a sentimental 
setting are of this character. We are all of us a little wild and insane 
’ upon certain subjects or in regard to certain persons or objects. In 
such cases a very trivial remark or even a gesture will fire one of these 
loaded ideas. The result is an emotional explosion, a sudden burst 
of weeping, a gust of violent, angry, and irrelevant emotion, or, in 


476 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


case the feelings are more under control, merely a bitter remark or a 
chilling and ironical laugh. It is an interesting fact that a jest may 
serve as well to give expression to the ‘‘feelings” as an expletive or 
any other emotional expression. All forms of fanaticism, fixed ideas, 
phobias, ideals, and cherished illusions may be explained as the effects 
of mental mechanisms created by the suppressed complexes. 

From what has been said we are not to assume that there is any 
necessary and inevitable conflict among ideas. In our dreams and 
day-dreams, as in fairyland, our memories come and go in the most 
disorderly and fantastic way, so that we may seem to be in two places 
at the same time, or we may even be two persons, ourselves and some- 
one else. Everything trips lightly along, in a fantastic pageant 
without rhyme or reason. We discover something of the same free- 
dom when we sit down to speculate about any subject. All sorts 
of ideas present themselves; we entertain them for a moment, then 
dismiss them and turn our attention to some other mental picture 
which suits our purpose better. At such times we do not observe 
any particular conflict between one set of ideas and another. The 
lion and the lamb lie down peacefully together, and even if the lamb 
happens to be inside we are not particularly disturbed. 

Conflict arises between memories when our personal interests are 
affected, when our sentiments are touched, when some favorite 
opinion is challenged. Conflict arises between our memories when 
they are connected with some of our motor dispositions, that is to 
say, when we begin to act. Memories which are suppressed as a 
result of emotional conflicts, memories associated with established 
motor dispositions, inevitably tend to find some sort of direct or sym- 
bolic expression. In this way they give rise to the symptoms which 
we meet in hysteria and psychasthenia—fears, phobias, obsessions, 
and tics, like stammering. 

The suppressed complexes do not manifest themselves in the 
pathological forms only, but neither do the activities of the normal 
complexes give any clear and unequivocal evidence of themselves in 
ordinary consciousness. We are invariably moved to act by motives 
of which we are only partially conscious or wholly unaware. Not 
only is this true, but the accounts we give to ourselves and others of 
the motives upon which we acted are often wholly fictitious, although 
they may be given in perfect good faith. 


SOCIAL FORCES 477 


A simple illustration will serve, however, to indicate how this can 
be effected. In what is called post-hypnotic suggestion we have an 
illustration of the manner in which the waking mind may be influenced 
by impulses of whose origin and significance the subject is wholly 
unaware. Ina state of hypnotic slumber the suggestion is given that 
after awaking the subject will, upon a certain signal, rise and open the 
window or turn out the light. He is accordingly awakened and, at 
the signal agreed upon while he was in the hypnotic slumber but of 
which he is now wholly unconscious, he will immediately carry out 
the command as previously given. If the subject is then asked why 
he opened the window-.or turned out the light, he will, in evident 
good faith, make some ordinary explanation, as that “‘it seemed too 
hot in the room,” or that he “‘thought the light in the room was 
disagreeable.” In some cases, when the command given seems too 
absurd, the subject may not carry it out, but he will then show signs 
of restlessness and discomfort, just for instance as one feels when he 
is conscious that he has left something undone which he intended to 
do, although he can no longer recall what it was. Sometimes when 
the subject is not disposed to carry out the command actually given, 
he will perform some other related act as a substitute, just as persons 
who have an uneasy conscience, while still unwilling to make restitu- 
tion or right the wrong which they have committed, will perform some 
other act by way of expiation. 

Our moral sentiments and social attitudes are very largely fixed 
and determined by our past experiences of which we are only vaguely 
conscious. | 

“This same principle,” as Morton Prince suggests, ‘‘ underlies 
what is called the ‘social conscience,’ the ‘civic’ and ‘national 
conscience,’ ‘patriotism,’ ‘public opinion,’ what the Germans call 
‘Sittlichkeit,’ the war attitude of mind, etc. All these mental 
attitudes may be reduced to common habits of thought and conduct 
derived from mental experiences common to a given community and 
conserved as complexes in the unconscious of the several individuals 
of the community.” 

Sentiments were first defined and distinguished from the emotions 
by Shand, who conceived of them as organizations of the emotions 
about some particular object or type of object. Maternal love, for 
example, includes the emotions of fear, anger, joy, or sorrow, all 


478 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


organized about the child. This maternal love is made up of innate 
tendencies but is not itself a part of original nature. It is the mother’s 
fostering care of the child which develops her sentiments toward it, 
and the sentiment attaches to any object that is bound up with the 
life of the child. The cradle is dear to the mother because it is con- 
nected with her occupation in caring for the child. The material 
fears for its welfare, her joy in its achievements, her anger with those 
who injure or even disparage it, are all part of the maternal sentiment. 

The mother’s sentiment determines her attitude toward her child, 
toward other children, and toward children in general. Just as back 
of every sensation, perception, or idea there is some sort of motor 
disposition, so our attitudes are supported by our sentiments. Back 
of every political opinion there is a political sentiment and its the 
sentiment which gives force and meaning to the opinion. 

Thus we may think of opinions merely as representative of 
a psycho-physical mechanism, which we may call the sentiment- 
attitude. These sentiment-attitudes are to be regarded in turn as 
organizations of the original tendencies, the instinct-emotions, about 
some memory, idea, or object which is, or once was, the focus and the 
end for which the original tendencies thus organized exist. In this 
way opinions turn out, in the long run, to rest on original nature, 
albeit original nature modified by experience and tradition. 


Cy TTHE FOUR WISHES: A CLASSIFICATION OF SOCIAL FORCES 
1. The Wish, the Social Atom! 


The Freudian psychology is based on the doctrine of the ‘‘ wish,” 
just as physical science is based, today, on the concept of function. 
Both of these are what may be called dynamic concepts, rather than 
static; they envisage natural phenomena not as things but as processes 
and largely to this fact is due their pre-eminent explanatory value. 
Through the “wish” the “thing” aspect of mental phenomena, the | 
more substantive ‘“‘content of consciousness,” becomes somewhat 
modified and reinterpreted. This “wish.” which as a concept Freud 
does not analyze, includes all that would commonly be so classed, 
and also whatever would be called impulse, tendency, desire, purpose, 


t Adapted from Edwin B. Holt, The Freudian Wish and Its Place in Ethics, 
pp. 3-50. (Henry Holt & Co., 1915.) 


SOCIAL FORCES 479 


attitude, and the like, not including, however, any emotional compo- 
nents thereof. Freud also acknowledges the existence of what he 
calls ‘‘negative wishes,” and these are nor jears but negative purposes. 
An exact definition of the ‘‘wish”’ is that it is a course of action which 
some mechanism of the body is set to carry out, whether it actually 
does so or does not. All emotions, as well as the feelings of pleasure 
and displeasure, are separable from the “wishes,” and this precludes 
any thought of a merely hedonistic psychology. The wish is any 
purpose or project for @ course of action, whether it is being merely 
entertained by the mind or is being actually executed—a distinction 
which is really of little importance. We shall do well if we consider 
this to be, as in fact it is, dependent on a motor attitude of the physical 
body, which goes over into overt action and conduct when the wish 
is carried into execution. 

It is this “wish”? which transforms the principal doctrines of 
psychology and recasts the science, much as the “atomic theory”’ 
and later the “ionic theory”’ have reshaped earlier conceptions of 
chemistry. This so-called ‘wish’? becomes the unit of psychology, 
replacing the older unit commonly called “‘sensation,’’ which latter, 
it is to be noted, was a content of consciousness unit, whereas the 
“wish” is a more dynamic affair. 

Unquestionably the mind is somehow ‘‘embodied” in une body. 
But how? Well, if the unit of mind and character is a “wish,” it is 
easy enough to perceive how it is incorporated. It is, this “wish,” 
something which the body as a piece of mechanism can do—a course 
of action with regard to the environment which the machinery of the 
body is capable of carrying out. This capacity resides clearly in the 
parts of which the body consists and in the way in which these are 
put together, not so much in the matter of which the body is com- 
posed, as in the forms which this matter assumes when organized. 

In order to look at this more closely we must go a bit down the 
evolutionary series to the fields of biology and physiology. Here we 
find much talk of nerves and muscles, sense-organs, reflex arcs, stimu- 
lation, and muscular response, and we feel that somehow these things 


cc 


_~ do not reach the core of the matter, and that they never can; that 


spirit is not nerve or muscle; and that intelligent conduct, to say 
nothing of conscious thought, can never be reduced to reflex arcs and 
the like—just as a printing press is not merely wheels and rollers, and 


480 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


still less is it chunks of iron. The biologist has only himself to thank 
if he has overlooked a thing which lay directly under his nose. He 
has overlooked the form of organization of these his reflex arcs, has left 
out of account that step which assembles wheels and rollers into a 
printing press, and that which organizes reflex arcs, as we shall pres- 
ently see, into an intelligent, conscious creature. Evolution took 
this important little step of organization ages ago, and thereby pro- 
duced the rudimentary ‘“‘ wish.” 

Now in the reflex arc a sense-organ is stimulated and the energy 
of stimulation is transformed into nervous energy, which then passes 
along an afferent nerve to the central nervous system, passes through 
this and out by an efferent or motor nerve to a muscle, where the 
energy is again transformed and the muscle contracts. Stimulation 
at one point of the animal organism produces contraction at another. 
The principles of irritability and of motility are involved, but all 
further study of this process will lead us only to the physics and 
chemistry of the energy transformations—will lead us, that is, in the 
direction of analysis. If, however, we inquire in what way such 
reflexes are combined or “‘integrated”’ into more complicated processes, 
we shall be led in exactly the opposite direction, that of synthesis, and 
here we soon come, as is not surprising, to a synthetic novelty. This 
is specific response or behavior. 

In this single reflex something is done to a sense-organ and the 
process within the organ is comparable to the process in any unstable 
substance when foreign energy strikes it; it is strictly a chemical 
process, and so for the conducting nerve, likewise for the contracting 
muscle. It happens, as a physiological fact, that in this process stored 
energy is released so that a reflex contraction is literally comparable 
to the firing of a pistol. But the reflex arc is not “aware”’ of any- 
thing, and indeed there is nothing more to say about the process 
unless we should begin to analyze it. But even two such processes 
going on together in one organism are a very different matter. Two 
such processes require two sense-organs, two conduction paths, and 
two muscles; and since we are considering the result of the two in 
combination, the relative anatomical location of these six members is 
of importance. For simplicity I will take a hypothetical but strictly 
possible case. A small water animal has an eyespot located on each 
side of its anterior end; each spot is connected by a nerve with a 





SOCIAL FORCES 481 


vibratory silium or fin on the side of the posterior end; the thrust 
exerted by each fin is toward the rear. If, now, light strikes one eye, 
say the right, the left fin is set in motion and the animal’s body is 
set rotating toward the right like a rowboat with one oar. ‘This is 
all that one such reflex arc could do for the animal. Since, however, 
there are now two, when the animal comes to be turned far enough 
toward the right so that some of the light strikes the second eyespot 
(as will happen when the animal comes around facing the light), the 
second fin, on the right side, is set in motion, and the two together 
propel the animal forward in a straight line. The direction of this 
line will be that in which the animal lies when its two eyes receive 
equal amounts of light. In other words, by the combined operation 
of two reflexes the animal swims toward the light, while either reflex 
alone would only have set it spinning like a top. It now responds 
specifically in the direction of the light, whereas before it merely 
spun when lashed. 

Suppose, now, that it possess a third reflex arc—a ‘“‘heat spot” 
so connected with the same or other fins that when stimulated by a 
certain intensity of heat it initiates a nervous impulse which stops 
the forward propulsion. The animal is still “lashed,” but neverthe- 
less no light can force it to swim “‘blindly to its death”’ by scalding. 
It has the rudiments of “‘intelligence.”” But soit had before. For as 
soon as two reflex arcs capacitate it mechanically to swim toward light, 
it was no longer exactly like a pinwheel; it could respond specifically 
toward at least one thing in its environment. 

It is this objective reference of a process of release that is signifi- 
cant. The mere reflex does not refer to anything beyond itself; if 
it drives an organism in a certain direction, it is only as a rocket 
ignited at random shoots off in some direction, depending on how it 
happened to lie. But specific response is not merely in some random 
direction, it is foward an object, and if this object is moved, the respond- 
ing organism changes its direction and still moves after it. And the 
objective reference is that the organism is moving with reference to 
some object or fact of the environment. For the organism, while a 
’ very interesting mechanism in itself, is one whose movements turn 
on objects outside of itself, much as the orbit of the earth turns upon 
the sun; and these external, and sometimes very distant, objects are 
as much constituents of the behavior process as is the organism which 


482 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


does the turning. It is this pivotal outer object, the object of specific 
response, which seems to me to have been overneglected. 

It is not surprising, then, that in animals as highly organized 
reflexly as are many of the invertebrates, even though they should 
possess no other principle of action than that of specific response, the 
various life-activities should present an appearance of considerable 
intelligence. And I believe that in fact this intelligence is solely the 
product of accumulated specific responses. Our present point is that 
the specific response and the “‘wish”’ as Freud uses the term, are one 
and the same thing. 

2. The Freudian Wish' 


“Tf wishes were horses, beggars would ride” is a nursery saw which, 
ii the light of recent developments in psychology, has come to have a 
much more universal application than it was formerly supposed to 
have. If the followers of the Freudian school of psychologists can 
be believed—and there are many reasons for believing them—all of 
us, no matter how apparently contented we are and how well we 
are supplied with the good things of the earth, are “beggars,”’ because 
at one time or another and in one way or another we,are daily betray- 
ing the presence of unfulfilled wishes. Many of these wishes are of 
such .a character that we ourselves cannot put them into words. 
Indeed, if they were put into words for us, we should straightway 
deny that such a wish is or was ever harbored by us in our waking 

moments. But the stretch of time indicated by “waking moments” 
is only a minor part of the twenty-four hours. Even during the time 
we are not asleep we are often abstracted, day-dreaming, letting 
moments go by in reverie. Only during a limited part of our waking 
moments are we keenly and alertly “all there” in the possession of 
our faculties. ‘There are thus, even apart from sleep, many unguarded 
moments when these so-called “repressed wishes”? may show them- 
selves. 

In waking moments we wish only for the conventional things 
which will not run counter to our social traditions or code of living. 
But these open and above-board wishes are not very interesting to 
the psychologist. Since they are harmless and call for the kinds of 
things that everybody in our circle wishes for, we do not mind admit- 


* Adapted from John B. Watson, ‘‘The Psychology of Wish Fulfillment,” in 
the Scientific Monthly, III (1916), 479-86. 


SOCIAL FORCES 483 


ting them and talking about them. Open and uncensored wishes 
are best seen in children (though children at an early age begin to 
show repressions). Only tonight I heard a little girl of nine say: 
“T wish I were a boy and were sixteen years old—I’d marry Ann” (her 
nine-year old companion). And recently I heard a boy of eight say 
to his father: “I wish you would go away forever; then I could marry 
mother.”’ The spontaneous and uncensored wishes of children gradu- 
ally disappear as the children take on the speech conventions of the 
adult. But even though the crassness of the form of expression of 
the wish disappears with age, there is no reason to suppose that the 
human organism ever gets to the point where wishes just as uncon- 
ventional as the above do not rise to trouble it. Such wishes, though, 
are immediately repressed; we never harbor them nor do we express 
them clearly to ourselves in our waking moments. 

The steps by which repression takes place in the simpler cases are 
not especially difficult to understand. When the child wants some- 
thing it ought not to have, its mother hands it something else and 
moves the object about until the child reaches out for it. When the 
adult strives for something which society denies him, his environment 
offers him, if he is normal, something which is ‘‘almost as good,” 
although it may not wholly take the place of the thing he originally 
strove for. ‘This in general is the process of substitution or sublima- 
tion. It is never complete from the first moment of childhood. 
Consequently it is natural to suppose that many of the things which 
have been denied us should at times beckon to us. But since they are 
banned they must beckon in devious ways. These sometime grim 
specters both of the present and of the past cannot break through 
the barriers of our staid and sober waking moments, so they exhibit 
themselves, at least to the initiated, in shadowy form in reverie, artd 
in more substantial form in the slips we make in conversation and in 
writing, and in the things we laugh at; but clearest of all in dreams. 
I say the meaning is clear to the initiated because it does require 
special training and experience to analyze these seemingly nonsensical 
slips of tongue and pen, these highly elaborated and apparently 
- meaningless dreams, into the wishes (instinct and habit impulses) 
which gave them birth. It is fortunate for us that we are protected 
in this way from having to face openly many of our own wishes and 
the wishes of our friends. 


484 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


We get our clue to the dream as being a wish fulfilment by taking 
the dreams of children. ‘Their dreams are as uncensored as is their 
conversation. Before Christmas my own children dreamed nightly 
that they had received the things they wanted for Christmas. The 
dreams were clear, logical, and open wishes. Why should the 
dreams of adults be less logical and less open unless they are to 
act as concealers of the wish? Ifthe dream processes in the 
child run in an orderly and logical way, would it indeed not be 
curious to find the dream processes of the adult less logical and full 
of meaning? 

' This argument gives us good a priori grounds for supposing that 
the dreams of adults too are full of meaning and are logical; that 
there is a wish in every dream and that the wish is fulfilled in the 
dream. ‘The reason dreams appear illogical is due to the fact that 
if the wish were to be expressed in its logical form it would not square 
with our everyday habits of thought and action. We should be dis- 
inclined to admit even to ourselves that we have such dreams. Imme- 
diately upon waking only so much of the dream is remembered, that is, 
put into ordinary speech, as will square with our life at the time. 
The dream is ‘‘censored,” in other words. 

The question immediately arises, who is the censor or what part 
of us does the censoring? The Freudians have made more or less 
of a “metaphysical entity”’ out of the censor. They suppose that 
when wishes are repressed, they are repressed into the ‘“‘ unconscious,” 
and that this mysterious censor stands at the trapdoor lying 
between the conscious and the unconscious. Many of us do not 
believe in a world of the unconscious (a few of us even have grave 
doubts about the usefulness of the term consciousness), hence we 
try to explain censorship along ordinary biological lines. We believe 
that one group of habits can “down” another group of habits—or 
instincts. In this case our ordinary system of habits—those which 
we call expressive of our “‘real selves’—inhibit or quench (keep 
inactive or partially inactive) those habits and instinctive tendencies 
which belong largely in the past. 

This conception of the dream as having both censored and un- 
censored features has led us to divide the dream into its specious or 
manifest content (face value, which is usually nonsensical) and its 


2 


SOCIAL FORCES 485 


latent or logical content. We should say that while the manifest 
content of the dream is nonsensical, its true or latent content is 
usually logical and expressive of some wish that has been suppressed 
in the waking state. 

On examination the manifest content of dreams is found to be 
full of symbols. As long as the dream does not have to be put into 
customary language, it is allowed to stand as it is dreamed—the 
symbolic features are uncensored. Symbolism is much more common 
than is ordinarily supposed. All early language was symbolic. 
The language of children and of savages abounds in symbolism. 
Symbolic modes of expression both in art and in literature are among 
the earliest forms of treating difficult situations in delicate and inoffen- 
sive ways. In other words, symbols in art are a necessity and serve 
the same purpose as does the censor in the dreams. Even those of 
us who have not an artistic education, however, have become familiar 
with the commoner forms of symbolism through our acquaintance 
with literature. In the dream, when the more finely controlled 
physiological processes are in abeyance, there is a tendency to revert 
to the symbolic modes of expression. ‘This has its use, because on 
awaking the dream does not shock us, since we make no attempt to 
analyze or trace back in the dream the symbol’s original meaning. 
‘Hence we find that the manifest content is often filled with symbols 
which occasionally give us the clue to the dream analysis. 

The dream then brings surcease from our maladjustments: If 
we are denied power, influence, or love by society or by individuals, 
we can obtain these desiderata in our dreams. We can possess in 
dreams the things which we cannot have by day. In sleep the poor 
man becomes a Midas, the ugly woman handsome, the childless 
woman surrounded by children, and those who in daily life live upon 
a crust in their dreams dine like princes (after living upon canned 
goods for two months in the Dry Tortugas, the burden of my every 
dream was food). Where the wished-for things are compatible with 
our daily code, they are remembered on awaking as they were dreamed. 
Society, however, will not allow the unmarried woman to have 
children, however keen her desire for them. Hence her dreams in 
which the wish is gratified are remembered in meaningless words and 
symbols. 


486 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Long before the time Freud’s doctrine saw the light of day, 
William James gave the key to what I believed to be the true explana- 
tion of the wish. Thirty years ago he wrote: 


I am often confronted by the necessity of standing by one of my selves 
and relinquishing the rest. Not that I would not, if I could, be both 
handsome and fat and well dressed, and a great athlete, and make a million 
a year, be a wit, a bon vivant, and a lady-killer, as well as a philospher, a 
philanthropist, a statesman, a warrior, and African explorer, as well as a 
“tone-poet” and a saint. But the thing is simply impossible. The 
millionaire’s work would run counter to the saint’s; the bon vivant and the 
philanthropist would trip each other up; the philosopher and the lady- 
killer could not well keep house in the same tenement of clay. Such 
different characters may conceivably at the outset of life be alike possible 
to a man. But to make any one of them actual, the rest must more or 
less be suppressed. 


What James is particularly emphasizing here is that the human 
organism is instinctively capable of developing along many different 
lines, but that due to the stress of civilization some of these instinc- 
tive capacities must be thwarted. In addition to these impulses 
which are instinctive, and therefore hereditary, there are many 
habit impulses which are equally strong and which for similar reasons 
must be given up. The systems of habits we form (i.e., the acts we’ 
learn to perform) at four years of age will not serve us when we are 
twelve, and those formed at the age of twelve will not serve us when 
we become adults. As we pass from childhood to man’s estate, we 
are constantly having to give up thousands of activities which our 
nervous and muscular systems have a tendency to perform. Some of 
these instinctive tendencies born with use are poor heritages; some 
of the habits we early develop are equally poor possessions. But, 
whether they are ‘‘good” or “bad,” they must give way as we put 
on the habits required of adults. Some of them yield with difficulty 
and we often get badly twisted in attempting to put them away, as 
every psychiatric clinic can testify. It is among these frustrated 
impulses that I would find the biological basis of the unfulfilled wish. 
Such “wishes” need never have been “conscious” and need never 
have been suppressed into Freud’s realm of the unconscious. It may 
be inferred from this that there is no particular reason for applying 
the term “wish” to such tendencies. What we discover then in 


SOCIAL FORCES 487 


dreams and in conversationai slips and other lapses are really at 
heart “‘reaction tendencies” —tendencies which we need never have 
faced nor put into words at any time. On Freud’s theory these 
“‘wishes”” have at one time been faced and put into words by the 
individual, and when faced they were recognized as not squaring with 
his ethical code. They were then immediately “repressed into the 
unconscious.” | 

A few illustrations may help in understanding how thwarted 
tendencies may lay the basis for the so-called unfulfilled wish which 
later appears in the dream. One individual becomes a psychologist 
in spite of his strong interest in becoming a medical man, because at 
the time it was easier for him to get the training along psychological 
lines. Another pursues a business career, when, if he had had his 
choice, he would have become a writer of plays. Sometimes on 
account of the care of a mother or of younger brothers and sisters, 
a young man cannot marry, even though the mating instinct is normal; 
such a course of action necessarily leaves unfulfilled wishes and frus- 
trated impulses in its train. Again a young man will marry and 
settle down when mature consideration would show that his career 
would advance much more rapidly if he were not burdened with a 
family. Again, an individual marries and without even admitting 
to himself that his marriage is a failure he gradually shuts himself 
_ off from any emotional expression—protects himself from the married 
state by sublimating his natural domestic ties, usually in some kind of 
engrossing work, but often in questionable ways—by hobbies, speed 
manias, and excesses of various kinds. In connection with this it is 
interesting to note that the automobile, quite apart from its utilitarian 
value, is coming to be a widely used means of repression or wish 
sublimation. I have been struck by the enormously increasing 
number of women drivers. Women in the present state of society 
have not the same access to absorbing kinds of works that men have 
(which will shortly come to be realized as a crime far worse than that 
of the Inquisition). Hence their chances of normal sublimation are 
limited. For this reason women seek an outlet by rushing to the 
war as nurses, in becoming social workers, pursuing aviation, etc. 
Now if I am right in this analysis these unexercised tendencies to 
do things other than we are doing are never quite got rid of. We 
cannot get rid of them unless we could build ourselves over again so 


488 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


that our organic machinery would work only along certain lines and 
only for certain occupations. Since we cannot completely live these 
tendencies down, we are all more or less “unadjusted”’ and ill adapted. 
These maladjustments are exhibited whenever the brakes are off, 
that is, whenever our higher and well-developed habits of speech and 
action are dormant, as in sleep, in emotional disturbances, etc. 

Many but not all of these “wishes” can be traced to early child- 
hood or to adolescence, which is a time of stress and strain and a 
period of great excitement. In childhood the boy often puts himself 
in his father’s place; he wishes that he were grown like his father and 
could take his father’s place, for then his mother would notice him 
more and he would not have to feel the weight of authority. The 
girl likewise often becomes closely attached to her father and wishes 
her mother would die (which in childhood means to disappear or go 
away) so that she could be all in all to her father. These wishes, 
from the standpoint of popular morality, are perfectly innocent; 
but as the children grow older they are told that such wishes are 
wrong and that they should not speak in such a “dreadful” way. 
Such wishes are, then, gradually suppressed—replaced by some other 
mode of expression. But the replacement is often imperfect. The 
apostle’s saying, “When we become men we put away childish 
things”? was written before the days of, psychoanalysis. 


3- The Person and His Wishes‘ 


« Lhe human being has a great variety of ‘‘wishes,” ranging from 
the desire to have food to the wish to serve Reais 

Anything capable of being appreciated (wished for) is a ‘yalue.” 
Food, money, a poem, a political doctrine, a religious creed, a member 
of the other sex, etc., are values. 

There are also negative values—things which exist but which 
the individual does not want, which he may even despise. Liquor 
or the Yiddish language may be a positive value for one person and a 
negative value for another. 


*A restatement from a paper by William I. Thomas, “‘The Persistence of 
Primary-Group Norms in Present-Day Society,” in Jennings, Watson, Meyer, 
and Thomas, Suggestions of Modern Science Concerning Education. (Published by 
The. Macmillan Co., 1917.) 





SOCIAL FORCES 489 


The state of mind of the individual toward a value is an “atti- 
tude.”” Love of money, desire for fame, appreciation of a given 
poem, reverence for God, hatred of the Jew, are attitudes. 

We divide wishes into four classes: (1) the desire for new experi- 
ence; (2) the desire for security; (3) the desire for recognition; 
(4) the desire for response. 

1. The desire for new experience is seen in simple forms in the 
prowling and meddling activities of the child, and the love of adven- 
ture and travel in the boy and the man. It ranges in moral quality 
from the pursuit of game and the pursuit of pleasure to the pursuit 
of knowledge and the pursuit of ideals. It is found equally in the 
vagabond and the scientific explorer. Novels, theaters, motion 
pictures, etc., are means of satisfying this desire vicariously, and their 
popularity is a sign of the elemental force of this desire. . 

In its pure form the desiré for new experience implies motion, 
change, danger, instability,--secsal irresponsibility. The individual 
dominated by it shows a tendency to disregard prevailing standards 
and group interests. He may be a complete failure, on account of 
his instability; or a conspicuous success, if he converts his experiences 
into social values—puts them in the form of a poem, makes of them a 
contribution to science, etc. 

2. The desire for security is opposed to the desire for new experi 
ence. It implies avoidance of danger and death, caution, con- 
servatism. Incorporation in an organization (family, community, 
state) provides the greatest security. In certain animal societies 
(e.g., the ants) the organization and co-operation are very rigid. 
Similarly among the peasants of Europe, represented by our immi- 
grant groups, all lines of behavior are predetermined for the individual 
by tradition. In such a group the individual is secure as long as the 
group organization is secure, but evidently he shows little originality 
or creativeness. 

3. The desire for recognition expresses itself in devices for securing 
distinction in the eyes of the public. A list of the different modes of 
seeking recognition would be very long. It would include courageous 
- behavior, showing off through ornament and dress, the pomp of kings, 
the display of opinions and knowledge, the possession of special 
attainments—in the arts, for example. It is expressed alike in 
arrogance and in humility, even in martyrdom. Certain modes of 


490 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


seeking recognition we define as ‘“‘vanity,” others as ‘“ambition.”’ 
The ‘“‘will to power” Delongs here. Perhaps there has been no spur 
to human activity so keen and no motive so naively avowed as the 
desire for ‘‘undying fame,”’ and it would be difficult to estimate the 
rodle the desire for recognition has played in the creation of social 
values. 

4. The desire for response is a craving, not for the recognition of 
the public at large, but for the more intimate appreciation of indi- 
viduals. It is exemplified in mother-love (touch plays an important 
role in this connection), in romantic love, family affection, and other 
personal attachments. Homesickness and loneliness are expressions 
of it. Many of the devices for securing recognition are used also in 
securing response. | 

Apparently these four classes comprehend all the positive wishes. 
Such attitudes as anger, fear, hate, and prejudice are attitudes toward 
those objects which may frustrate a.wish. 

Our hopes, fears, inspirations, joys, sorrows are bound up with 
these wishes and issue from them. There is, of course, a kaleido- 
scopic mingling of wishes throughout life, and a single given act may 
contain a plurality of them. Thus when a peasant emigrates to 
America he may expect to have a good time and learn many things. 
(new experience), to make a fortune (greater securitv), to have a 
higher social standing on his return (recognition), and to induce 
a certain person to marry him (response). 

The “character’’ of the individual is determined by the nature 
of the organization of his wishes. ‘The dominance of any one of the 
four types of wishes is the basis of our ordinary judgment of his char- 
acter. Our appreciation (positive or negative) of the character of 
the individual is based on his display of certain wishes as against 
others, and on his modes of seeking their realization. 

The individual’s attitude toward the totality of his attitudes 
constitutes his conscious “personality.” The conscious personality 
represents the conception of self, the individual’s appreciation of his 
own character. 





SOCIAL FORCES 491 


III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


Literature on the concept of social forces falls under four heads: 
(1) popular notions of social forces; (2) social forces and history; 
(3) interests, sentiments, and attitudes as social forces; and (4) 
wishes as social forces. 


1. Popular Notions of Social Forces 


The term ‘‘social forces” first gained currency in America with 
the rise of the “‘reformers,” so called, and with the growth of popular 
interest in the problems of city life; that is, labor and capital, munici- 
pal reform and social welfare, problems of social politics. 

In the rural community the individual had counted; in the city 
he is likely to be lost. It was this declining weight of the individual 
in the life of great cities, as compared with that of impersonal social 
organizations, the parties, the unions, and the clubs, that first sug- 
gested, perhaps, the propriety of the term social forces. In 1897 
Washington Gladden published a volume entitled Social Facts and 
Forces: the Factory, the Labor Union, the Corporation, the Railway, the 
City, the Church. ‘The term soon gained wide currency and general 
acceptance. 

At the twenty-eighth annual National Conference of Charities 
and Correction, at Washington, D.C., Mary E. Richmond read a 
paper upon ‘Charitable Co-operation” in which she presented a 
diagram and a classification of the social forces of the community from 
the point of view of the social worker,’ given on page 492. 

Beginning in October, 1906, there appeared for several years 
in the journal of social workers, Charities and Commons, now The 
Survey, editorial essays upon social, industrial, and civic questions 
under the heading ‘“‘Social Forces.” In the first article E. T. Devine 
made the following statement: ‘‘In this column the editor intends to 
have his say from month to month about the persons, books, and 
events which have significance as social forces... . . Not all the 
social forces are obviously forces of good, although they are all under 
the ultimate control of a power which makes for righteousness.” 

' Ten years later a group of members in the National Conference 
of Social Work formed a division under the title “The Organization 


t Proceedings of the National Conference of Charities and Correction, 1901, p. 300. 


492 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


_ Diacram or Forces with WHIcH THE CHARITY WORKER 
May Co-OPERATE 


A 


Family Forces 


Personal Forces. 


elief Forces. 


A.—Family Forces. 
Capacity of each member for 
Affection 
Training 
Endeavor 
Social development. 
B.—Personal Forces. 
Kindred. 
Friends. 
C.—WNeighborhood Forces. 
Neighbors, landlords, tradesmen. 
Former and present employers. 
Clergymen, Sunday-school teachers, fel- 
low church members. 
Doctors. 
Trade-unions, fraternal and benefit soci- 
eties, social clubs, fellow-workmen. 
Libraries, educational clubs, classes, 
settlements, etc. 
Thrift agencies, savings-banks, stamp- 
savings, building and loan associations. 
D.—Civic Forces. 
School-teachers, truant officers. 
Police, police magistrates, probation 
officers, reformatories. 





Health department, sanitary inspectors, 
factory inspectors. 

Postmen. 

Parks, baths, etc. 

E.—Private Charitable Forces. 

Charity organization society. 

Church of denomination to which family 
belongs. 

Benevolent individuals. 

National, special, and general relief 
societies. 

Charitable employment agencies and 
work-rooms. 

Fresh-air society, children’s aid society, 
society for protection of children, 
children’s homes, etc. 

District nurses, sick-diet kitchens, dispen- 
saries, hospitals, etc. 

Society for suppression of vice, prisoner’s 
aid society, etc. 

F.—Public Relief Forces. 

Almshouses. 

Outdoor poor department. 

Public hospitals and dispensaries. 





SOCIAL FORCES 493 


of the Social Forces of the Community.”” The term community, in 
connection with that of social forces, suggests that every community 
may be conceived as a definite constellation of social forces. In 
this form the notion has been fruitful in suggesting a more abstract, 
intelligible, and, at the same time, sounder conception of the com- 
munity life. 

Most of the social surveys made in recent years are based upon 
this conception of the community as a complex of social forces em- 
bodied in institutions and organizations. It is the specific task of 
every community survey to reveal the community in its separated and 
often isolated organs. The references to the literature on the com- 
munity surveys at the conclusion of chapter iii, ‘‘Society and the 
Group,” will be of service in a further study of the application of the 
concept of social forces to the study of the community. 


2. Social Forces and History 


Historians, particularly in recent years, have frequently used the 
expression ‘‘social forces’? although they have nowhere defined it. 
Kuno Francke, in the Preface of his book entitled A History of German 
Literature as Determined by Social Forces, states that it “is an honest 
attempt to analyze the social, religious, and moral forces which 
determined the growth of German literature as a whole.” ‘Taine in 
the Preface to The Ancient Régime says: ‘‘Without taking any side, 
curiosity becomes scientific and centres on the secret forces which 
direct the wonderful process. These forces consist of the situations, 
the passions, the ideas, and the wills of each group of actors, and 
which can be defined and almost measured.’” 

It is in the writings of historians, like Taine in France, Buckle in 
England, and Karl Lamprecht in Germany, who started out with the 
deliberate intention of writing history as if it were natural history, 
that we find the first serious attempts to use the concept of social 
forces in historical analysis. Writers of this school are quite as much 
interested in the historical process as they are in historical fact, and 
there is a constant striving to treat the individual as representative 
- of the class, and to define historical tendencies in general and abstract 
terms. 


2 See:p..210; 
2H. A. Taine, The Ancient Régime, Preface, p. viii. (New York, 1891.) 


494 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


But history conceived in those terms tends to become sociology. 
“History,” says Lamprecht, “‘is @ socio-psychological science. In the 
conflict between the old and the new tendencies in historical investi- 
gation, the main question has to do with social-psychic, as compared 
and contrasted with individual-psychic factors; or to speak some- 
what generally, the understanding on the one hand of conditions, on 
the other of heroes, as the motive powers in the course of history.” 
It was Carlyle—whose conception of .history is farthest removed 
from that of Lamprecht—who said, “‘ Universal history is at bottom 
the history of great men.” . 

The criticism of history by historians and the attempts, never 
quite successful, to make history positive furnish further interesting 
comment on this topic.? 


3. Interest, Sentiments, and Attitudes as Social Forces 


More had been written, first and last, about human motives than 
any other aspect of human life. Only in very recent years, however, 
have psychologists and social psychologists had either a point of view 
or methods of investigation which enabled them to analyze and ex- 
plain the facts. ‘The tendency of the older introspective psychology 
was to refer in general terms to the motor tendencies and the will, 
but in the analysis of sensation and the intellectual processes, will 
disappeared. 

The literature on this subject covers all that has been written 
by the students of animal behavior and instinct, Lloyd Morgan, 
Thorndike, Watson, and Loeb. It includes the interesting studies 
of human behavior by Bechterew, Pavlow, and the so-called objective 
school of psychology in Russia. It should include likewise writers 
like Graham Wallas in England, Carleton Parker and Ordway Tead 
in America, who are seeking to apply the new science of human nature 
to the problems of society.’ 

Every social Science has been based upon some theory, implicit 
or explicit, of human motives. Economics, political science, and 
ethics, before any systematic attempt had been made to study the 
matter empirically, had formulated theories of human nature to 
justify their presuppositions and procedures. 

1 Karl Lamprecht, What Is History? p. 3. (New York, 1905.) 

2 See chap. i, “Sociology and the Social Sciences,” pp. 6-12. 

3 See references, chap. ii, ‘Human Nature,” p. 149. 


SOCIAL FORCES 495 


In classical political economy the single motive of human action 
was embodied in the abstraction ‘‘the economic man.” The utili- 
tarian school of ethics reduced all.human motives to self-interest. 
Disinterested conduct was explained.as enlightened self-interest. ‘This 
theory was criticized as reducing the person to “an intellectual cal- 
’ culating machine.” The theory of evolution suggested to Herbert 
Spencer a new interpretation of human motives which reasserted their 
individualistic origin, but explained altruistic sentiments as the slowly 
accumulated products of evolution. Altruism. to Spencer was the 
enlightened self-interest of the race. 

It was the English economists of the eighteenth century who 
gave us the first systematic account of modern society in deter- 
ministic terms. ‘The conception of society implicit in Adam Smith’s 
Wealth of Nations reflects at once the temper of the English people 
and of the age in which he lived.t_ The eighteenth century was the 
age of individualism, laissez faire and freedom. Everything was in 
process of emancipation except woman. 

The attention of economists at this time was directed to that 
region of social life in which the behavior of the individual is most 
individualistic and least controlled, namely, the market place. The 
economic man, as the classical economists conceived him, is more 
completely embodied in the trader in the auction pit, than in any 
other figure in any other situation in society. And the trader in 
that position performs a very important social function.? 


t For a discussion of the philosophical background of Adam Smith’s political 
philosophy see Wilhelm Hasbach, Untersuchungen tiber Adam Smith. (Leipzig, 
1891.) 

2“‘The science of Political Economy as we have it in England may be de- 
fined as the science of business, such as business is in large productive and 
trading communities. It is an analysis of that world so familiar to many English- 
men—the ‘great commerce’ by which England has become rich. It assumes the 
principal facts which make that commerce possible, and as is the way of an abstract 
science it isolates and simplifies them: it detaches them from the confusion with 
which they are mixed in fact. And it deals too with the men who carry on that 
commerce, and who make it possible. It assumes a sort of human nature such as 
. we see everywhere around us, and again it simplifies that human nature; it looks 
at one part of it only. Dealing with matters of ‘business,’ it assumes that man is 
actuated only by motives of business. It assumes that every man who makes 
anything, makes it for money, that he always makes that which brings him in 
most at least cost, and that he will make it in the way that will produce most and 


496 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


There are, however, other social situations which have created 
other social types, and the sociologists have, from the very first, 
directed their attention to a very different aspect of social life, namely, 
its unity and solidarity. Comte conceived humanity in terms of the 
family, and most sociologists have been disposed to take the family 
as representative of the type of relations they are willing to call © 
social. Not the auction pit but the family has been the basis of the 
sociological conception of society. Not competition but control has 
been the central fact and problem of sociology. 

Socialization, when that word is used as a term of appreciation 
rather than of description, sets up as the goal of social effort a world 
in which conflict, competition, and the externality of individuals, if 
they do not disappear altogether, will be so diminished that all men 
may live together as members of one family. This, also, is the goal 
of progress according to our present major prophet, H. G. Wells. 

It is intelligible, therefore, that sociologists should conceive of 
social forces in other terms than self-interest. If there had been no 
other human motives than those attributed to the economic man 
there would have been economics but no sociology, at least in the 
sense in which we conceive it today. 

In the writings of Ratzenhofer and Small human interests are 
postulated as both the unconscious motives and the conscious ends of 
behavior. Small’s classification of interests—health, wealth, socia- 
bility, knowledge, beauty, rightness—has secured general acceptance. 

“Sentiment”. was used by French writers, Ribot, Binet, and 
others, as a general term for the entire field of affective life. A. F. 
Shand in two articles in Mind, ‘‘Character and the Emotions” and 
“Ribot’s Theory of the Passions,” has made a distinct contribution 
by distinguishing the sentiments from the emotions. Shand pointed 
out that the sentiment, as a product of social experience, is an organi- 
zation of emotions around the idea of an object. McDougall in his 


spend least; it assumes that every man who buys, buys with his whole heart, and 
that he who sells, sells with his whole heart, each wanting to gain all possible 
advantage. Of course we know that this is not so, that men are not like this; but 
we assume it for simplicity’s sake, as an hypothesis.”—Walter Bagehot, The 
Postulates of English Political Economy. (New York and London, 1885.) 


tH. G. Wells, The Outline of History, Vol. II, pp. 579-05. (New York, 1920.) 





SOCIAL FORCES 497 


Social Psychology adopted Shand’s definition and described the organi- 
zation of typical sentiments, as love and hate. 

Thomas was the first to make fruitful use of the term attitude, 
which he defined as a “‘tendency to act.” Incidentally he points out 
that attitudes are social, that is, the product of interaction. 


4. Wishes and Social Forces 


Ward had stated that ‘‘The social forces are wants seeking 
satisfaction through efforts, and are thus social motives or motors 
inspiring activities which either create social structures through social 
synergy or modify the structures already created through innovation 
and conation.”? Elsewhere Ward says that ‘“‘desire is the only 
motive to action.’” 

The psychoanalytic school.of psychiatrists have attempted to 
reduce all motives to one—the wish, or /ibido. Freud conceived that 
sex appetite and memories connected with it were the unconscious 
sources of some if not all of the significant forms of human behavior. 
Freud’s interpretation of sex, however, seemed to include the whole 
field of desires that have their origin in touch stimulations. To Jung 
the libido is vital energy motivating the life-adjustments of the 
person. Adler from his study of organic inferiority interpreted the 
libido as the wish for completeness or perfection. Curiously enough, 
these critics of Freud, while not accepting his interpretation of the 
unconscious wish, still seek to reduce all motives to a single unit. 
To explain all behavior by one formula, however, is to explain 
nothing. | 

On the other hand, interpretation by a multitude of unrelated 
conscious desires in the fashion of the older sociological literature is 
no great advance beyond the findings of common sense. ‘The dis- 
tinctive value of the definition, and classification, of Thomas lies in 
the fact that it reduces the multitude of desires to four. These four 
wishes, however, determine the simplest as well as the most complex 
behavior of persons. The use made of this method in his study of 
the Polish peasant indicated its possibilities for the analysis of the 
‘organization of the life of persons and of social groups. 


t Pure Sociology, p. 261. (New York, 1903.) 
2 Dynamic Sociology, II, 90. (New York, 1883.) 


4098 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. CURRENT NOTIONS OF SOCIAL FORCES 


(x) Patten,Simon N. The Theory of Social Forces. Philadelphia, 1806. 

(2) Gladden, Washington. Social Facts and Forces. ‘The factory, the 
labor union, the corporation, the railway, the city, the church. New 
York, 1897. 

(3) Richmond, Mary. ‘Charitable Co-operation,” Proceedings of the 
National Conference of Charities and Correction, 1901, pp. 298-313. 
(See ‘‘ Diagram of Forces with which Charity Worker may Co-operate.’’) 

(4) Devine, Edward T. Social Forces. From the editor’s page of T e 
Survey. New York, tgto. 

(5) Edie, Lionel D., Editor. Current Social and Industrial Forces. Intro- 
duction by James Parvey Robinson. New York, 1920. 

(6) Burns, Allen T. ‘“‘Organization of Community Forces for the Promo- 
tion of Social Programs,” Proceedings of the National Conference of 
Charities and Correction, 1916, pp. 62—78. 

(7) Social Forces. A topical outline with bibliography. Wisconsin 
Woman’s Suffrage Association, Educational Committee. Madison, 
Wis., 1915. 

(8) Wells, H. G. Social Forces in England and America. London, 1914. 

(9) Wiley, Malcolm M., and Rice, Stuart A. “William J. Bryan as a 
Social Force,” Journal of Social Forces, II (1923-24), 338-44. 

(10) Ogburn, William F. “Business Fluctuations as Social Forces,” 
Journal of Social Forces, I (1922-23), 73-78. 

(11) McKenzie, R. D. “Community Forces, a Study in Non-partisan 
Politics,” Journal of Social Forces, II (1924), 266-75, 415-21, 560-68. 

(12) Giddings, Franklin H. ‘The Measurement of Social Forces,” Journal 
of Social Forces,” I, 1921-22. | 


II. HISTORICAL TENDENCIES AS SOCIAL FORCES 


(1) Lamprecht, Karl. What Is History? Five lectures on the modern 
science of history. Translated from the German by E. A. Andrews. 
London and New York, 1905. 

(2) Loria, A. The Economic Foundations of Society. Translated from the 
2d French ed. by L. M. Keasbey. London and New York, 1899. 

(3) Beard, Charles A. An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution of 
the United States. New York, 10913. 

(4) Brandes, Georg. Main Currents in Nineteenth-Century Literature. 
6 vols. London, 1906. 

(5) Taine, H. A. The Ancient Régime. Translated from the French by 
John Durand. - New York, 18o1. 

(6) Buckle, Henry Thomas. History of Civilization in England. 2 vols. 
New York, 18092. 

(7) Lacombe, Paul. De lhistoire considérée comme science. Paris, 1894. 

(8) Francke, Kuno. Social Forces in German Literature. A study in the 
history of civilization. New York, 1896. 

(9) Hart, A. B. Social and Economic Forces in American History. From 
The American Nation, A History. London and New York, 1904. 

(ro) Turner, Frederick J. ‘Social Forces in American History,” The 
American Historical Review, XVI (1910-11), 217-33. 


SOCIAL FORCES 490 


(11) Woods, F. A. The Influence of Monarchs. Steps in a new science 
of history. New York, 10913. 

(12) Cheyney, Edward P. ‘Law in History,” American Historical Review, 
XXIX (1924), 231-48. 


II. INTERESTS AND WANTS 
A. Interests, Desires, and Wants as Defined by the Sociologist 


(1) Ward, Lester F. Dynamic Sociology, or Applied Soctal Science. 
As based upon statical sociology and the less complex sciences. 
“The Social Forces,” I, 468-699. New York, 1883. 

Pure Sociology. A treatise on the origin and spontaneous 

development of society. Chap. xii, “‘Classification of the Social 

Forces,” pp. 256-65. New York, 1903. 

The Psychic Factors of Civilization. Chap. ix, “The 
Philosophy of Desire,” pp. 50-58; chap. xviii, “‘The Social Forces,” 
pp. 116-24. Boston, 1gor. 

(4) Small, Albion W. General Sociology. Chaps. xxvii and xxxi, pp. 
372-94; 425-42. Chicago, 1905. 

(5) Ross, Edward A. The Principles of Sociology. Part II, “Social 
Forces,” pp. 41-73. New York, 1920. 

(6) Blackmar, F. W:, and Gillin, J. L. Outlines of Sociology. Part III, 
chap. li, “‘Social Forces,” pp. 283-315. New York, rors. 

(7) Hayes, Edward C. “The ‘Social Forces’ Error,” American Journal 
of Sociology, XVI (1910-11), 613-25; 636-44. 

(8) Fouillée, Alfred. Education froma National Standpoint. Translated 
from the French by W. J. Greenstreet. Chap. i. New York, 1892. 

Morale des idées-forces. 2d ed. Paris, 1908. [Book II, 

Part IJ, chap. ill, pp. 290-311, describes opinion, custom, law, 

education from the point of view of ‘‘Idea-Forces.”’] 





(2) 





(3) 





B. Interests and Wants as Defined by the Economist 


(1) Hermann, F. B. W. v. Staatswirthschaftliche Untersuchungen. 
Chap. i. Miinchen, 1870. [First of the modern attempts to 
classify wants.] 

(2) Walker, F. A. Political Economy. 3d ed. New York, 1888. 
[See discussion of competition, pp. 91-111.] 

(3) Marshall, Alfred. Principles of Economics. An introductory 
volume. Chap. ii, ‘““Wants in Relation to Activities,” pp. 86—or. 
6th ed. London, rgro. 

“Some Aspects of Competition,’ Journal of the Royal 
Statistical Society. Sec. VII, ‘‘Modern Analysis of the Motives of 
Business Competition,” LIII (1890), 634-37. [See also Sec. VIII, 
‘““Growing Importance of Public Opinion as an Economic Force,” 
pp. 637-41.] 

(5) Menger, Karl. Grundsdtze der Volkswirthschaftslehre. Chap. ii, 
Wien, 1871. . 

(6) Untersuchungen tiber die Methode der Socialwissenschaften 

und der politischen Okonomie insbesondere. Chap. vii, ‘Uber das 

Dogma,” etc. Leipzig, 1883. 








500 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(7) Jevons, W.S. The Theory of Political Economy. Chap. ii, ‘Theory 
of Pleasure and Pain,” pp. 28-36; “‘The Laws of Human Wants,” 
pp. 39-43. 4thed. London, tort. 

(8) Bentham, Jeremy. ‘“‘A Table of the Springs of Action.” Showing 
the several species of pleasures and pains of which man’s nature is 
susceptible; together with the several species of interests, desires, 
and motives respectively corresponding to them; and the several 
sets of appellatives, neutral, eulogistic, and dyslogistic, by which each 
species of motive is wont to be designated. [First published in 1817.] 
The Works of Jeremy Bentham, I, 195-219. London, 1843. 

(9) Dickinson, Z. C. Economic Motives. A study in the psychological 
foundations of economic theory, with reference to other social 
sciences. Cambridge, Mass., 1922. 


C. Wants and Values 


(1) Kreibig, Josef K. Psychologische Grundlegung eines Systems der 
Wert-Theorie. Wien, 1902. 

(2) Simmel, Georg. Linleitung in die Moralwissenschaft. Eine Kritik 
der ethischen Grundbegriffe. Vol. I, chap. iv, “Die Gliickselig- 
keit.” 2 vols. Berlin, 1904-5. 

(3) Meinong, Alexius. Psychologische-ethische Untersuchungen zur Wert- 
Theorie. Graz, 1894. 

(4) Ehrenfels, Chrn. v. System der Wert-Theorie. 2 vols. Leipzig, 
1897-08. 

(5) Brentano, Franz. Psychologie vom empirischen Standpunkte. Chaps. 
vi-ix, pp. 256-350. Leipzig, 1874. 

(6) Urban, Wilbur Marshall. Valuation, Its Nature and Laws. Being 

’ an introduction to the general theory of value. London, 1909. 

(7) Cooley, Charles H. Social Process. Part VI, ‘‘ Valuation,” pp. 

283-348. New York, 1918. 


IV. SENTIMENTS, ATTITUDES, AND WISHES 


(1) White, W. A. Mechanisms of Character Formation. An introduction 
to psychoanalysis. New York, 1916. 

(2) Pfister, Oskar. The Psychoanalytic Method. ‘Translated from the 
German by Dr. C. R. Payne. New York, 1917. 

(3) Jung, Carl G. Analytical Psychology. Translated from the German 
by Dr. Constance E. Long. New York, 1916. 

(4) Adler, Alfred. The Neurotic Constitution. Outlines of a comparative 
individualistic psychology and psychotherapy. Translated from the 
German by Bernard Glueck. New York, 1917. 

(5) Freud, Sigmund. General Introduction to Psychoanalysis. New York, 
1920. 

(6) Tridon, André. Psychoanalysis and Behavior. New York, 1920. 

(7) Holt, Edwin B. The Freudian Wish and Its Place in Ethics. New 
Y ork, ors: 

(8) Mercier, C. A. Conduct and Its Disorders Biologically Considered. 
London, tort. 

(9) Bechterew, W. v. La psychologie objective. Translated from the 
Russian. Paris, 1913. 

(10) Kostyleff, N. Le mécanisme cérébral de la pensée. Paris, 1914. 


(11) 
(12) 


(13) 
(14) 
(15) 
(16) 
(17) 


(18) 
(19) 


SOCIAL FORCES 501 


Bentley, A. F. The Process of Government. A study of social pres- 
sures. Chicago, 1908. 

Veblen, T. The Theory of the Leisure Class. An economic study in 
the evolution of institutions. . New York, 1899. [Discusses the wish 
for recognition.] 

The Instinct of Workmanship, and the State of the Industrial 
Arts. New York, t914. (Discusses the wish for recognition.] 
McDougall, William. Amn Introduction to Social Psychology. Chaps. 
v-vi, pp. 121-73. 13th ed. Boston, 1918. 

Shand, A. F. “Character and the Emotions,” Mind., n. s., V (18096), 
203-26. 





. “M. Ribot’s Theory of the Passions,” Mind., n. s., XVI 
(1907), 477-505. 

. The Foundations of Character. Being a study of the ten- 
dencies of the emotions and sentiments. Chaps. iv—v, ‘‘The Systems 
of the Sentiments,” pp. 35-63. London, ror4. 

Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe and 
America, III, 5-81. Boston, 1919. 

Eliot, Thomas D. “A Psychoanalytic Interpretation of Group 
Formation and Behavior,’ American Journal of Sociology, XXVI 


(5520-2 9334-52. 








TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. The Concept of Forces in the Natural Sciences 
. Historical Interpretation and Social Forces 


3. The Concept of Social Forces in Recent Studies of the Local Com- 


oo“ 


Io, 
Il. 
12. 


aie = 


14. 


munity 


. Institutions as Social Forces: The Church, the Press, the School, etc. 
. Institutions as Organizations of Social Forces: Analysis of a Typical 


Institution, Its Organization, Dominant Personalities, etc. 


. Persons as Social Forces: Analysis of the Motives determining the 


Behavior of a Dominant Personality in a Typical Social Group 


. Group Opinion as a Social Force 
. Tendencies, Trends, and the Spirit of the Age 
. History of the Concepts of Attitudes, Sentiments, and Wishes as 


Defined in Psychology, Psychoanalysis, and Sociology 

Attitudes as the Organizations of Wishes 

The Freudian Wish ; 

Personal and Social Disorganization from the Standpoint of the Four 
Wishes 

The Law of the Four Wishes: All the Wishes Must Be Realized. A 
Wish of One Type, Recognition, Is Not a Substitute for a Wish of 
Another Type, Response 

The Dominant Wish: Its Réle in the Organization of the Person and 
of the Group 


502 


Ts 


16. 


Ov 


o on 


Io. 


EE KS 
[2. 


13) 


T4. 


15. 


16. 


we 
18. 


IQ. 


20. 


21% 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Typical Attitudes: Familism, Individualism, “Oppressed Nationality 
Psychosis,” Race Prejudice 

The Mutability of the sentiment-attitudes Love and Hate, Self- 
esteem and Humility, etc. 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. Make a list of the outstanding social forces affecting social life in a 


community which you know. What is the value of such an analysis ? 


. How does Simons use the term “social forces” in analyzing the course 


of events in American history ? 


. In what sense do you understand Ely to use the term “social 


forces”? 


. Would there be, in your opinion, a social tendency without conflict 


with other tendencies ? 


. How far is it correct to predict from present tendencies what the 


future will be? 


. What do you understand by Zeizégezst, “trend of the times,” “spirit of 


the age”? 


. What do you understand by public opinion? How does it originate? 
. Is legislation in the United States always a result of public opinion ? 
. Does the trend of public opinion determine corporate action ? 


Is public opinion the same as the sum of the opinion of the members 
of the group? 

What is the relation of social forces to interaction ? 

Is it possible to study trends, tendencies, and public opinion as inte- 
grations of interests, sentiments, and attitudes ? 

Are desires the fundamental “‘social elements” ? 

What do you understand Small to mean when he says, ‘The last 
elements to which we can reduce the actions of human beings are units 
which we may conveniently name ‘interests’” ? 

What is Small’s classification of interests? Do you regard it as 
satisfactory ? 

What do you think is the difference between an impulse and an interest ? 
Do people behave according to their interests or their impulses ? 

Make a chart showing the difference in interests of six persons with 
whom you are acquainted. 

Make a chart indicating the variations in interests of six selected 
groups. 

What difference is there, in your opinion, between interests and social 
pressures P 

Do you consider the following statement of Bentley’s correct: ‘‘No 
slaves, not the worst abused of all, but help to form the government” ? 


22. 
23- 


24. 
a8; 
26. 
Dye 


28. 


29. 
30. 
aT. 


32. 
33: 
34. 


35: 
36. 
37: 
. How would you illustrate the difference between an attitude and a 


39. 
40. 


AI. 
42. 


43 
. Give illustrations of the “‘four wishes.” 
45: 
46. 

47. 


48. 


SOCIAL FORCES > 503 


Does the group exert social pressure upon its members? Give illus- 
trations. 

What do you understand to be the differences between an idea and an 
idea-force ? 

Give illustrations of idea-forces. 

Are there any ideas that are not idea-forces P 

What do you understand by a sentiment ? 

What is the difference between an interest and a sentiment? Give an 
illustration of each. 

Are sentiments or interests more powerful in influencing the behavior 
of a person or of a group? 

What do you understand by a social attitude ? 

What is a mental conflict ? 

To what extent does unconsciousness rather than consciousness deter- 
mine the behavior of a person? Give an illustration where the behavior 
of a person was inconsistent with his rational determination. 

What do you understand by mental complexes’? 

What is the relation of memory to mental complexes ? 

What do you understand by personality? What is its relation to 
mental complexes ? 

What is meant by common sense ? 

How does Holt define the Freudian wish ? 

What distinction does he make between the wish and the motor attitude ? 


wish as defined in the introduction ? 

How far would you say that the attitude may be described as an 
organization of the wishes ? 

How far is the analogy between the wish as the social atom and the 
attitude as the social element justified ? 

What is the “psychic censor” ? 

What is the Freudian theory of repression : > Is repression conscious or 
unconscious ? 

What is the relation of wishes to occupational selection ? 


Describe a person in terms of the type of expression of these four wishes. 
What social problems arise because of the repression of certain wishes ? 
“‘Wishes in one class cannot be substituted for wishes in another.” Do 
you agree? Elaborate your position. 

Analyze the organization of a group from the standpoint of the four 
wishes. 


CHAPTER VIII 


COMPETITION 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Popular Conception of Competition 


Competition, as a universal phenomenon, was first clearly con- 
ceived and adequately described by the biologists. As defined in the 
evolutionary formula “the struggle for existence” the notion, captured 
the popular imagination and became a commonplace of familiar 
discourse. Prior to that time competition had been regarded as an 
economic rather than a biological phenomenon. 

It was in the eighteenth century and in England that we first find 
any general recognition of the new réle that commerce and the middle- 
man were to play in the modern world. ‘Competition is the life of 

Y trade” is a trader’s maxim, and the sort of qualified approval that it 
gives to the conception of competition contains the germ of the whole 
philosophy of modern industrial society as that doctrine was formu- 
lated by Adam Smith and the physiocrats. 

The economists of the eighteenth century were the first to attempt 
to rationalize and justify the social order that is based on competition 
and individual freedom. They taught that there was a natural 
harmony in the interests of men, which once liberated would inevi- 
tably bring about, in the best of all possible worlds, the greatest good 
to the greatest number. 

The individual man, in seeking his own profit, will necessarily 
seek to produce and sell that which has most value for the community, 
and so “‘he is in this, as in many other cases,”’ as Adam Smith puts it, 
“led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of 
his intention.” 

The conception has been stated with even greater unction by the 
French writer, Frédéric Bastiat. 


Since goods which seem at first to be the exclusive property of indi- 
viduals become by the estimable decrees of a wise providence [competition] 


504 


COMPETITION : 505 


the common possession of all; since the natural advantages of situation, 
the fertility, temperature, mineral richness of the soil and even industrial 
skill do not accrue to the producers, because of competition among them- 
selves, but contribute so much the more to the profit of the consumer; it 
follows that there is no country that is not interested in the advancement 
of all the others.! 


The freedom which commerce sought and gained upon the prin- 
ciple of laissez faire has enormously extended the area of competition 
and in doing so has created a world-economy where previously there 
were only local markets. It has created at the same time a division 
of labor that includes all the nations and races of men and incidentally 
has raised the despised middleman to a position of affluence and power 
undreamed of by superior classes of any earlierage. And now there 
is a new demand for the control of competition in the interest, not 
merely of those who have not shared in the general prosperity, but in 
the interest of competition itself. 

“Unfair competition”’ 1s an expression that is heard at the present 
time with increasing frequency. This suggests that there are rules 
governing competition by which, in its own interest, it "can and 
should be controlled. ‘The same notion has found expression in the 
demand for “freedom of competition” from those who would safe- 
guard competition by controlling it. Other voices have been raised 
in denunciation of competition because “‘ competition creates monop- 
oly.” In other words, competition, if carried to its logical c ‘conclusion, 
ends in the annihilation of competition. In this destruction ¢ of cx compe- 
tition by competition we seem to have a loss of freedom by freedom, 
edi in more general terms, unlimited libe with ) 
in i the negation of freedom and t he slavery of the indi-“ 














control, e nk 
vidual. Bi 
to be said, 


The moge fundamental Berane is) ziving freedom to 
economic cgmpetition society has sacrificed other fundamental inter- 
ests that are not directly involved in’ the ¢ c process. In any 


case economic freedom exists in an or as been created and 
maintained by society. Economic competition, as we know it, pre- 





a 


506 INTROD( CTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 





supposes the existence of the right of private property, which is a 
creation of the state. It is upon this premise that the more radical 
social doctrines, communism and socialism, seek to abolish compe- 
tition altogether. 


2. Competition a Process of Interaction 


Of the four great types of interaction—competition, conflict, 
accommodation, and assimilation—competition is the elementary, 


. universal and fundamental form. Social contact, as we have seen, 


initiates interaction. But competition, strictly speaking, is imnter- 
action without social contact. If this seems, in view of what has 
already been said, something of a paradox, it is because in human 
society competition is always‘complicated with other processes, that 
is to say, with conflict, assimilation, and accommodation. 

It is only in the plant community that we en observe the process 
of competition in isolation, uncomplicated. “hence social processes. 
The members of a plant community liv ther in airelation of 
mutual interdependence which we call soc Ae probably because, while 
it is close and vital, it is not bicinetas t not biological because 
the relation is a merely external one andthe plants that compose it 
are not even of the same species. They do not interbreedg The 
members of a plant community adapt themselves to one another as 
all living things adapt themselves to their environment, but there is 
no conflict between them because they are pot copscious. ( Compe- 
tition takes the form of conflict or rivalty only when it becomes 

conscious, when competitors identify one another as rivals or~as_ 
enemies. 

This suggests what is meant by the statement that competition 
is interaction without social contact. It is only when minds meet, only 
when the meaning that is in one mind is communicated to another 
mind so that these minds mutually influence one another, that social 
contact, properly speaking, may be said to exfst. 

On the other hand, <ocial contacts are not limited to contacts of 
touch or sense or speech, and they are likely to be more intimate and 
more pervasive than we imagine. Some years ago the Japanese, who 
are brown, defeated the Russians, who are white. In the course of 
the next few months the news of this remarkable event penetrated, as 
we afterward learned, uttermost ends of the earth. It sent a thrill 










5°7 


orners of Central 
antastic dreams. 


Social contact, 
br assimilation, 















established to thai comien ‘welfare. It is just t 

trading transaction to isolate the «motive of profit a 

basis of business organization, and so far as this mof 

dominant and exclusive, business relations inevitably 
impersonal character so generally ascribed to them. 

,‘Competition,” says Walker, “‘is opposed to senti 
ever any economic agent does or forbears anything under 
of any sentiment other than the desire of giving the least ant 

the most he can in exchange, be that sentiment patriotism, or grati- 

tude, or charity, or vanity, leading him to do otherwise than as self 

interest would prompt, in that case also, the rule of competition is 

. departed from. Another rule is for the time substituted.’ 

This is the significance of the. familiar sayings to the effect that 
one “must not mix busi ess with_sentiment,” that “business is busi- 
ness,” “corporations a heariless,” oe? It is just because corpota- 
tions are ‘‘heartless,”’ that is to say impersonal, that they represent 
the most advanced, efficient, and responsible form of business organi- 

zation. But it is for this same.reason that they can and need to be 

regulated in behalf of those interests of the community that cannot 
be translated immediately into terms of profit and loss to the 

individual. | , 

The plant community is the best illustration of the type of social 
organization that is created by competitive co-operation because in | 
the plant community competition is unrestricted. 





* Walker, Francis A., Political Economy, p. 92. (New York, 1887.) 


E SCIENCE GF SOCIOLOGY 










































b) Competitio ._—The economic organization of |soci- 
ety, so far as it ij ree competition, is an ecological organi- 
zation. There i well as a plant and an animal ecology. 

If we are t ie economic order is fundamentally 
ecological, that the struggle for existence, an organi- 
zation like that Gt comminity in which the relations between 
individuals arg : : kit least wholly external, the question may 
4 L@ahy the competition and the organization 
it has crez 7 varded as social at all. Asa matter of fact 
Hy identified the social with the moral order, 
anocracy and Education, makes statements which 
tely economic order, in-which man becomes a 
an end to other men, is unsocial, if not antisocial. 
miowever, that this character of externality in human 
fundamental aspect of society and social life. It is 
her manifestation of what has been referred to as the 
g aspect of society. Society is made up of individuals 
parated, territorially distributed, and capable of inde- 
pmotion. This capacity of independent locomotion is 
i the symbol of every-other form of independence. Free- 

Sfundamentally freedom to move and individuality is incon- 
elk without the capacity and the opportunity to gain an 
individual experience as a result of independent action. 

On the other hand, it is quite as true that society may be said to 
exist only so far as this independent activity of the individual is 
controlled in the interest of the group as a whole. That is the reason 
why the problem of control, using that term in its evident significance, 
inevitably becomes the central problem of sociology. 

c) Competition and control.—Conflict, assimilation and accommo- 
dation as distinguished from competition are all intimately related to 
control. Competition.is the process through which the distributive 
and ecological organization of cae is created. Competition | deter- 
The division of labor and all the vast orwanined abuse ntorle- 
pendence of individuals and groups of individuals characteristic of 
modern life are a product of competitiony On the other hand, the 
moral and nolitical order, waica imposes itself upon this competitive 
organization, is a product of conflict, ac mn odation and assimilation. 





COMPETITION”  . 509 


Competition is universal in the world of living things. Under 
ordinary circumstances it-:goes on unobserved even by the individuals | 
who are most concerned. It is only in periods of crisis, when men | 
are making new and conscious efforts to control the conditions of their 
common life, that the forces with which they are competing get 
identified with persons, and competition is Sons into conflict. 
It is in what has been described as the political process that society 
consciously deals with its crises.t War isi olitical process par 
excellence. It is in war that the great decisions are made. Political 
organizations exist for the purpose of dealing with conflict situations. 
Parties, parliaments and courts, public discussion and voting are to 
be considered simply as substitutes for war. 

a Accommodation, assimilation, and competition. eRe commode 
tion) on the other hand, As the process by which the individuals and 


which have been created by competition and conflict. Wai 
elections change situations. When changes thus effected ares 4 
and are accepted, conflict subsides and the tensions it cr 
resolved in the process of accommodation into profound | 
of the competing units, i.e., individuals and groups. 
thoroughly defeated is, as fe often been_noted, 

again.” /C /Conquest, subjugation, and defeat! are psychi 
as social p processes. They establish a new order 
merely the status, but the attitudes of the partie 
tually the new hndarpets itself fixed in habit ang 
transmitted as part of the established socia 
generations) Neither the physical nor the 4 


satisfy at once all the wishes of the naty rights of 
property, vested inteygsts of every sort ganization, 
slavery, caste and , the whole soa} fact, repre- 







sent accommodat} Mine: is to sa ; natural wishes 
of the individu hese ‘socia SeAimodations have 
presumably groj™™m™rup in the pi es of previous genera- 
tions, butthey | : Accepted by succeeding 
’ generations as part of Able social order. All of 
these are forms of co Betition is limited by status. 


See chap. i, pp..4 
























510 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


~*~ Conflict is then to be identified with the political order and with 
‘conscious control. Accommodation, on the other hand, is associated 
with the social order that is fixed-and established in custom and 
the mores. 
} Assimilation, as distinguished from accommodation, implies a 
, more thoroughgoing transformation of the personality—a transfor- 
| mation which takes place gradually under the influence of social 
/ contacts of the most conerete and intimate sort. 
~~ Accommodation may be regarded, like religious conversion, as a 
'_kind of mutation. The wishes are the same but their organization is 
different. Assimilation takes place not so much‘as a result of changes 
in the organization as in the content, ice., the memories, of the per- 
sonality. The individual units, as a eailt of intimate association, 
interpenetrate, so to speak, and come in this way into possession of 
(@@1mon experience and a common tradition. ‘The permanence and 
by of the group rest pal upon this body of common expe- 



















SOCIAL ORDER 
The economic equilibrium 
The political order 
Social organization 


Re ys AS a | Personality and the cultural 
, heritage — 
| ‘ ation of the Matg ials 
The materi 6 have been selected to exhibit (1) 


the réle which cam 
types of organizatio ; 
result of fhe division of ¥ 
rials fall naturally under ff 
ence; (b) competition and seg 

This drder of the mate 


the stages in the growth and ext 
— 


gocial life and all life, and (2) the 
a has everywhere created as a 
ere enforced. These mate- 
, (a) the struggle for exist- 
economic competition. 
urpose of indicating 
ontrol over nature 


COMPETITION SII 


and over man himself. The evolution of society has been the pro- 
gressive extension. of control over nature and the substitution of a 
moral for the natural order. 

Competition has its setting in the struggle for existence. This 
struggte i is ordinarily represented as a chaos of contending individuals 
in which the unfit perish in order that the fit may survive. This 
conception of the natural order as one of anarchy, ‘‘the war of each 
against all,”’ familiar since Hobbes to the students of society, is recent 
in biology. Before Darwin, students of plant and animal life saw 
in nature, not disorder, but order; not selection, but design. The 
difference between the older and the newer interpretation is not so 
much a difference of fact as of point of view. Looking at the plant 
and animal species with reference to their classification they present 
a series of relatively fixed and stable types. The same thing may be 
said of the plant and animal communities. Undef ordinary circum- 
stances the adjustment between the members of the plant and animal 
communities and the environment is so complete that the observer _ 
interprets it as an order of co- -operation rather than a condition of - 
competittve anarchy. 

__Upon investigation it turns out, however, that the plant and 
animal communities are in a state of unstable equilibrium, such that 
any change in the environment may destroy them. Communities Op 
this type are not ‘trina resist or adapt themselves as commu- 
nities to changes in the environment. The plant community, for 
example, is a mere product of segregation, an aggregate without 
nerves or means of communication that would permit the individuals 
to be controlled in the interest of the community as a whole. 

The situation is different in the so-called animal Societies. Ani- 
mals are adapted in part to the situation of cdmpetition, but in part 
also to the situation of co-operation. With the animal, maternal 
instinct, gregariousness, sex attraction restrict competition to a 
greater or less extent among individuals of the same family, herd, or 


: ‘ : 
* The introduction of the rabbit into Australia, where predatory competitors 
- are absent, has resulted in so great a multiplication of the members of this species 
that their numbers have become an economic menace.. The appearance of the 
boll weevil, an insect which attacks the cotton boll, has materially changed the 
character of agriculture in areas of cotton culture in the South. Scientists are now 
looking for some insect st enemyfof the hall weevil that will restore the equilibrium. 


512 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


species. In the case of the ant community competition is at a mini- 
mum and co-operation at a maximum. 

With man the free play of competition is restrained by sentiment, 
custom, and moral standards, not to speak of the more conscious 
control through law. 

It is a characteristic of competition, when unrestricted, that it is 
invariably more severe among organisms of the same than of different 
species. Man’s greatest competitor is man. On the other hand, 
man’s control over the plant and animal world is now well-nigh 
complete, so that, generally speaking, only such plants and animals 
are permitted to exist as serve man’s purpose. 

Competition among men, on the other hand, has been very largely 
converted into rivalry and conflict. The effect of conflict has been 
to extend progressively the area of control and to modify and limit 
the struggle for existence within these areas. The effect of war has 
been, on the ee | to extend the area over which there is peace. 
Competition has been restricted by custom, tradition, and law, and 
the struggle for existence has assumed the form of struggle for a 
livelihood and for status. - 

- Absolute free play of competition is neither desirable nor even 
possible. On the other hand, from the standpoint of the individual, 
competition means mobility, freedom, and, from the point of view of 
Society, pragmatic or experimental chagge. Restriction of compe- 
tition is synonymous with limitation of movement, aquiescence in 
control, and telesis, Ward’s term for changes ordained by society in 
distinction from Me natural process of change. 

The political problem of every society is the practical one: how 
to secure the maximum values of competition, that is, personal free- 
dom, initiative, and originality, and at the same time to control the 
energies which competition has released in the interest of the 
community. “s a 


_ II. .MATERIALS 
A. THE STRUGGLE ‘FOR EXISTENCE 
1. Different Forms of the. Struggle for Existence? 


The formula ‘struggle for existence,” familiar in human affairs, 
was used by Darwin in his interpretation. of organic life, and he 


t Adapted from J. Arthur Thomson, Dorwinish, ie Human Life, Pp. 72-75: 


(Henry Holt & Co., 1910.) + it, VG, 
eet ‘. tat: 
oak 
i . 7 » 


“.9 


COMPETITION 513 


showed that we gain clearness in our outlook on animate nature if 
we recognize there, in continual process, a struggle for existence not 
merely analogous to, but fundamantally the same as, that which 
goes on in human life. He projected on organic life a sociological 
idea, and showed that it fitted. But while he thus vindicated the 
relevancy and utility of the sociological idea within the biological 
realm, he declared explicitly that the phrase ‘“‘struggle for exist- 
ence” was meant to be a shorthand formula, summing up a vast 
variety of strife and endeavor, of thrust and parry, of action and 
reaction. 

Some of Darwin’s successors have taken pains to distinguish a 
great many different forms of the struggle for existence, and this 
kind of analysis is useful in keeping us aware of the complexities of 
the process. Darwin himself does not seem to have cared much 
for this logical mapping out and defining; it was egough for him to 
insist that the phrase was used “‘in a large and Penton sense,” 
and to give full illustrations of its various modes. For our present 
purpose it is enough for us to follow his example. 

a) Struggle between fellows.—When the locusts of a huge swarm 
have eaten up every green thing, they sometimes turn on one another. 
This cannibalism among fellows of the same species—illustrated, for 
instance, among many fishes—is the most intense form of the struggle 
for existence. The struggle does not need to be direct to be real; ? 
the essential point is that the competitors seek after the same 
desiderata, of which there is a limited supply. 

As an instance of keen struggle between nearly related species, 
Darwin referred to the combats of rats. The black rat was in 
possession of many European towns before the brown rat crossed the 
Volga in 1727; whenever the brown rat arrived, the black rat had 
to go to the wall. Thus at the present day there are practically no 
black rats in Great Britain. Here the struggle for existence is again 
directly competitive. It is difficult to separate the struggle for food 
and foothold from the struggle for mates, and it seems clearest to 
include here the battles of the stags and the capercailzies, or the 
‘extraordinary lek of the blackcock, showing off their beauty at sun- 
rise on the hills. 

b) Struggle between foes.—In the locust swarm and in the rats’ 
combats there is competition between fellows of the same or nearly 


514 INTRODUCTION TO. THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


related species, but the struggle for existence includes much wider 
antipathies. We see it between foes of entirely different nature, 
between carnivores and herbivores, between birds of prey and small 
mammals. In both these cases there may be a stand-up fight, for 
instance between wolf and stag, or between hawk and ermine; but 
neither the logic nor the biology of the process is different when all 
the nght is on one side. As the lemmings, which have overpopulated 
the Scandinavian valleys, go on the march they are followed by 
birds and beasts of prey, which thin their ranks. Moreover, the 
competition between species need not be direct; it will come to the 
same result if both types seek after the same things. The victory 
will be with the more effective and the more prolific. 

c) Struggle with fate—Our sweep widens still further, and we 
pass beyond the idea of competition altogether to cases where the 
struggle for existence is between the living organism and the in- 
animate conditions of its life—for instance, between birds and the 
winter’s cold, between aquatic animals and changes in the water, 
between plants and drought, between plants and frost—in a wide 
sense, between Life and Fate. 

We cannot here pursue the suggestive idea that, besides struggle 
between individuals, there is struggle between groups of indi- 
viduals—the latter most noticeably developed in mankind. Similarly, 
-working in the other direction, there is struggle between parts or 
tissues in the body, between cells in the body, between equivalent 
germ-cells, and, perhaps, as Weismann pictures, between the various 
multiplicate items that make up our inheritance. 


2. Competition and Natural Selection‘ 


The term “struggle for existence” is used in a large and meta- 
phorical sense, including dependence of one being on another, and 
including (which is more important) not only the life of the individual 
but success in leaving progeny. ‘Two canine animals in a time of 
déarth may be truly said to struggle with each other which shall get 
food and live. But a plant on the edge of a desert is said to struggle 
for life against the drought, though more properly it should be said 


* Adapted from Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species, pp. 50-61. (D. Apple- 
ton & Co., 1878.) 


COMPETITION 5 


to be dependent on the moisture. A plant which annually produces 
a thousand seeds, of which only one of an average comes to maturity, 
may be more truly said to struggle with the plants of the same and 
other kinds which already clothe the ground. ‘The mistletoe is depen- 
dent on the apple and a few other trees, but can only in a far-fetched 
sense be said to struggle with these trees, for, if too many of these 
parasites grow on the same tree, it languishes and dies. But several 
seedling mistletoes growing close together on the same branch may 
more truly be said to struggle with each other. As the mistletoe is 
disseminated by birds, its existence depends on them; and it may 
metaphorically be said to struggle with other fruit-bearing plants in 
tempting the birds to devour and thus disseminate its seeds. In these 
several senses which pass into each other, I use for convenience’ sake 
the general term of ‘“‘struggle for existence.” 

A struggle for existence inevitably follows from the high rate at 
which all organic beings tend to increase. Every being which during 
its natural lifetime produces several eggs or seeds must suffer destruc- 
tion during some period of its life, and during some season or occasional 
year, otherwise, on the principle of geometrical increase, its numbers 
would quickly become so inordinately great that no country could 
support the product. Hence, as more individuals are produced than 
can possibly survive, there must'in every case be a struggle for 
existence, either one individual with another of the same species, or 
with the individuals of distinct species, or with the physical conditions 
of life. It is the doctrine of Malthus applied with manifold force to 
the whole animal and vegetable kingdoms; for in this case there can 
be no artificial increase of food, and no prudential restraint from mar- 
riage. Although some species may be now increasing more or less 
rapidly in numbers, all cannot do so, for the world would not hold them. 

There is no exception to the rule that every organic being naturally 
increases at so high a rate that, if not destroyed, the earth would 
soon be covered by the progeny of a single pair. Even slow-breeding 
man has doubled in twenty-five years, and at this rate in less than a 
thousand years there would literally not be standing-room for his 
' progeny. Linnaeus has calculated that if an annual plant produced 
only two seeds—and there is no plant so unproductive as this—and 
their seedlings next year produced two, and so on, then in twenty 





| 
516 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


years there would be a million plants. The elephant is reckoned the 
slowest breeder of all known animals, and I have taken some pains 
to estimate its probable minimum rate of natural increase; it will be 
safest to assume that it begins breeding when thirty years old and 
goes on breeding till ninety years old, bringing forth six young in 
the interval and surviving till one hundred years old; if this be so, 
after a period of from 740 to 750 years there would be nearly nineteen 
million elephants alive, descended from the first pair. 

The struggle for life is most severe between individuals and 
varieties of the same species. As the species of the same genus usually 
have, though by no means invariably, much similarity in habits and 
constitution, and always similarity in structure, the struggle will 
generally be more sexere between them if they come into competition 
with each other than between the species of distinct genera. We see 
this in the recent extension over parts of the United States of one 
species of swallow having caused the decrease of another species. 
The recent increase of the missel-thrush in parts of Scotland has 
caused the decrease of the song-thrush. How frequently we hear 
of one species of rat taking the place of another species under the most 
different climates! In Russia the small Asiatic cockroach has every- 
where driven before it its great congener. In Australia the imported 
hive-bee is rapidly exterminating the small, stingless native bee. 
We can dimly see why the competition should be most severe between 
allied forms which fill nearly the same place in the economy of nature; 
but probably in no one case could we precisely say why one species 
has been victorious over another in the great battle of life. — 

A corollary of the highest importance may be deduced from the 
foregoing remarks, namely, that the structure of every organic being 
is related, in the most essential yet often hidden manner, to that of 
all the other organic beings with which it comes into competition 
for food or residence or from which it has to escape or on which it 
preys. ‘This is obvious in the structure of the teeth and talons of 
the tiger; and in that of the legs and claws of the parasite which 
clings to the hair on the tiger’s body. But in the beautifully plumed 
seed of the dandelion, and in the flattened and fringed legs of the 
water-beetle, the relation seems at first confined to the elements of air 
and water. Yet the advantage of plumed seeds no doubt stands in 


COMPETITION 517 





unoccupied = A In the water beetle, the structure of its legs, so 
well adapted for diving, allows it to compete with other aquatic insects, 
to hunt for its own prey, and to escape serving as prey to other animals. 

The store of nutriment laid up within the seeds of many plants 
seems at first sight to have no sort of relation to other plants. But 
from the strong growth of young plants produced from such seeds, as 
peas and beans, when sown in the midst of long grass, it may be sus- 
pected that the chief use of the nutriment in the seed is to favor the 
growth of seedlings whilst struggling with other plants growing 
vigorously all around. 

Look at a plant in the midst of its range; does it not double 
or quadruple its numbers? We know that it can perfectly well 
withstand a little more heat or cold, dampness or dryness, for elsewhere 
it ranges into slightly hotter or colder, damper or drier, districts. In 
this case we can clearly see that if we wish in imagination to give the 
plant the power of increasing in number, we should have to give it 
some advantage over its competitors, or over the animals which prey 
upon it. On the confines of its geographical range, a change of consti- 
tution with respect to climate would clearly be an advantage to our 
plant; but we have reason to believe that only a few plants or animals 
range so far, that they are destroyed exclusively by the rigor of the 
climate. Not until we reach the extreme confines of life, in the 
Arctic regions or on the borders of an utter desert, will competition 
cease. The land may be extremely cold or dry, yet there will be 
competition between some few species, or between the individuals 
of the same species, for the warmest or dampest spots. 

Hence we can see that when a plant or an animal is placed in a 
new country amongst.new competitors, the conditions of its life 
will generally be changed in an essential manner, although the climate 
may be exactly the same as in its former home. If its average num- 
bers are to increase in its new home, we should have to modify it in a 
different way to what we should have had to do in its native country; 
‘for we should have to give it some advantage over a different set of 
competitors or enemies. 

It is good thus to try in imagination to give to any one species 
an advantage over another. Probably in no single instance should 


518 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


we know what to do. This ought to convince us of our ignorance on 
the mutual relations of all organic beings, a conviction as necessary as 
it is difficult to acquire. All that we can do is to keep steadily in 
mind that each organic being is striving to increase in a geometrical 
ratio; that each at some period of its life, during some season of the 
year, during each generation or at intervals, has to struggle for life 
and to suffer great destruction. When we reflect on this struggle, we 
may console ourselves with the full belief that the war of nature is not 
incessant, that no fear is felt, that death is generally prompt, and 
that, the vigorous, the healthy, and the happy survive and multiply. 


or 3- Competition, Specialization, and Organization‘ 

Natural selectiop,acts exclusively by the preservation and accumu- 
lation of variationslii@hich are beneficial under the organic and inor- 
ganic conditions to which each creature is exposed at all periods of 
life. The ultimate result is that each creature tends to become 
more and more improved in relation to its conditions. This improve- 
ment inevitably leads to the gradual advancement of the organiza- 
tion of the greater number of living beings throughout the world. 

But here we enter on a very intricate subject, for naturalists have 
not defined to each other’s satisfaction what is meant by an advance 
in organization. Amongst the vertebrata the degree of intellect and 
an approach in structure to man clearly come into play. It might 
be thought that the amount of change which the various parts and 
organs pass through in their development from the embryo to maturity 
would suffice as a standard of comparison; but there are cases, as with 
certain parasitic crustaceans, in which several parts of the structure 
become less perfect, so that the mature animal cannot be called 
higher than its larva. Von Baer’s standard seems the most widely 
applicable and the best, namely, the amount of differentiation of the 
parts of the same organic being, in the adult state, as I should be 
inclined to add, and their specialization for different functions; or, as 
Milne Edwards would express it, the completeness of the division 
of physiological labor. But we shall see how obscure this subject 
is if we look, for instance, to fishes, amongst which some naturalists 
rank those as highest which, like the sharks, approach nearest to 


t Adapted from Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species, pp. 97-100. 
(D. Appleton & Co., 1878.) 


COMPETITION 519 


amphibians; whilst other naturalists rank the common bony or 
teleostean fishes as the highest, inasmuch as they are most strictly 
fishlike and differ most from the other vertebrate classes. We see 
still more plainly the obscurity of the subject by turning to plants, 
amongst which the standard of intellect is, of course, quite excluded; 
and here some botanists rank those plants as highest which have 
every organ, as sepals, petals, stamens, and pistils, fully developed in 
each flower; whereas other botanists, probably with more truth, 
look at the plants which have their several organs much modified and 
reduced in number as the highest. 

If we take as the standard of high organization the amount of 
differentiation and specialization of the several organs in each being 
when adult (and this will include the advancement of the brain 
for intellectual purposes), natural selection clearly leads toward 
this standard; for all physiologists admit that the specialization of 
organs, inasmuch as in this state they perform their functions better, 
is an advantage to each being; and ‘hence the accumulation of varia- 
tions tending toward specialization is within the scope of natural selec- 
tion. On the other hand, we can see, bearing in mind that all organic 
beings are striving to increase at a high ratio and to seize on every 
unoccupied or less well-occupied place in the economy of nature, that 
it is quite possible for natural selection gradually to fit a being toa 
situation in which several organs would be superfluous or useless: 
in such cases there would be retrogression in the scale of organization. 

But it may be objected that if all organic beings thus tend to rise 
in the scale, how is it that throughout the world a multitude of the 
lowest forms still exist; and how is it that in each great class some 
forms are far more highly developed than others? Why have not 
the more highly developed forms everywhere supplanted and extermi- 
nated the lower? On our theory the continued existence of lowly 
organisms offers no difficulty for natural selection, or the survival 
of the fittest does not necessarily include progressive development— 
it only takes advantage of such variations as arise and are beneficial 
to each creature under its complex relations of life. And it may be 
asked what advantage, as far as we can see, would it be to an infu- 
sorian animalcule—to an intestinal worm, or even to an earthworm— 
to be highly organized. If it were no advantage, these forms would 
be left, by natural selection, unimproved or but little improved, and 


520 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


might remain for indefinite ages in their present lowly condition. 
And geology tells us that some of the lowest forms, as the infusoria 
and rhizopods, have remained for an enormous period in nearly 
their present state. But to suppose that most of the many low forms 
now existing have not in the least advanced since the first dawn of 
life would be extremely rash; for every naturalist who has dissected 
some of the beings now ranked as very low in the scale must have 
been struck with their really wondrous and beautiful organiza- 
tion. 

Nearly the same remarks are applicable if we look to the different 
grades of organization within the same great group; for instance, in 
the vertebrata to the coexistence of mammals and fish; amongst 
mammalia to the coexistence of man and the ornithorhynchus; 
amongst fishes to the coexistence of the shark and the lancelet (Am- 
phioxus), which later fish in the extreme simplicity of its structure 
approaches the invertebrate classes. But mammals and fish hardly — 
come into competition with each other; the advancement of the 
whole class of mammals, or of certain members in this class, to the 
highest grade would not lead to their taking the place of fishes. 
Physiologists believe that the brain must be bathed by warm blood 
to be highly active, and this requires aerial respiration; so that warm- 
blooded mammals when inhabiting the water lie under a disadvantage 
in having to come continually to the surface to breathe. With fishes, 
members of the shark family would not tend to supplant the lancelet; 
for the lancelet, as I hear from Fritz Miiller, has as sole companion 
and competitor on the barren sandy shore of South Brazil an anoma- 
lous annelid. The three lowest orders of mammals, namely, mar- 
supials, edentata, and rodents, coexist in South America in the same 
region with numerous monkeys, and probably interfere little with 
each other. ? 

Although organization, on the whole, may have advanced and 
may be still advancing throughout the world, yet the scale will 
always present many degrees of perfection; for the high advancement 
of certain whole classes, or of certain members of each class, does not 
at all necessarily lead to the extinction of those groups with which 
they do not enter into close competition. In some cases, lowly 
organized forms appear to have been preserved to the present day 
from inhabiting confined or peculiar stations, where they have been 


COMPETITION 









subjected to less severe competition and where their scanty numbe s 
have retarded the chance of favorable variations arising. oe 

Finally, I believe that many lowly organized forms now exist 
throughout the world from various causes. In some cases variations © 
or individual differences of a favorable nature may never have arisen 
for natural selection to act on and accumulate. In no case, proba bly, 
has time sufficed for the utmost possible amount of development, 
In some few cases there has been what we must call retrogression of . 
organization. But the main cause lies in the fact that under very 
simple conditions of life a high organization would be of no bt eh 
possibly would be of actual disservice, as being of a more delicate 
nature and more liable to be put out of order and injured. 


4. Man: An Adaptive Mechanism! 


Everything in nature, living or not living; exists and develops 
at the expense of some other thing, living or not living. The plant 
borrows from the soil; the soil from the rocks and the atmosphere; 
men and animals take from the plants and from each other the ele- 
ments which they in death return to the soil, the atmosphere, and the 
plants. Year after year, century after century, eon after eon, the 
mighty, immeasurable, ceaseless round of elements goes on, in 
the stupendous process of chemical change, which marks the eternal 
life of matter. 

To the superficial observer, nature in all her parts seems imbued 
with a spirit of profound peace and harmony; to the scientist it is 
obvious that every infinitesimal particle of the immense concourse 
is in a state of desperate and ceaseless struggle to obtain such share 
of the available supply of matter and energy as will suffice to main- 
tain its present ephemeral form in a state of equilibrium with its 
surroundings. Not only is this struggle manifest among living forms, 
among birds and beasts and insects in their competition for food 
and habitat, but—if we may believe the revelations of the science 
of radio-activity—a process of transmutation, of disintegration of 
the atoms of one element with simultaneous formation of another 
- element, is taking place in every fragment of inanimate matter, a 
process which parallels in character the more transitory processes 


t Adapted from George W. Crile, Man: An Adaptive Mechanism, pp. 17-39. 
(Published by The Macmillan Co.. 1916. Reprinted by permission.) 












INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


fe and death in organisms and is probably a representation 
he primary steps in that great process of evolution by which 
jall terrestrial forms, organic and inorganic, have been evolved from 
th 6 original ether by an action inconceivably slow, continuous, and 
admitting of no break in the series from inanimate to animate forms. 
Pan From colloidal slime to man is a long road, the conception of which 
s our imaginations to the utmost, but it is an ascent which is 
how iairly well demonstrated. Indeed, the problems of the missing 
inks are not so difficult as is the problem of the origin of the organs 
-and functions which man has acquired as products of adaptation. 
_ For whether we look upon the component parts of our present bodies 
as useful or useless mechanisms, we must regard them as the result 


‘S 


_-~—soof: age-long conflicts between environmental forces and organisms. 


Everywhere something is pursuing and something is escaping 
another creature. It is a constant drama of getting food and of 
seeking to escape being made food, evolving in the conflict structures 
fitted to accomplish both reactions. Everywhere the strong prey 
upon the weak, the swift upon the slow, the clever upon the stupid; 
and the weak, the slow, the stupid, retaliate by evolving mechanisms 
of defense, which more or less adequately repel or render futile the 
oppressor’s attack. For each must live, and those already living 
have proved their right to existence by a more or less complete adapta- 
tion to their environment. ‘The result of this twofold conflict between 
living beings is to evolve the manifold structures and functions— 
teeth, claws, skin, color, fur, feathers, horns, tusks, wily instincts, 
strength, stealth, deceit, and humility—which make up character in 
the animal world. According to the nature and number of each 
being’s enemies has its own special mechanism been evolved, dis- 
tinguishing it from its fellows and enabling it to get a living in its 
particular environment. 

In every case the fate of each creature seems to have been 
staked upon one mechanism. The tiger by its teeth and claws, the 
elephant and the rhinoceros by their strength, the bird by its wings, 
the deer by its fleetness, the turtle by its carapace—all are enabled 
to counter the attacks of enemies and to procreate. Where there is 
a negative defense, such as a shell or quills, there is little need and 
no evidence of intelligence; where a rank odor, no need and no pres- 
ence of claws or carapace; where sting or venom, no need and no 


COMPETITION 523 


possession of odor, claws, shell, extraordinary strength, or sagacity. 
Where the struggle is most bitter, there exist the most complex and 
most numerous contrivances for living. 

Throughout its whole course the process of evolution, where it 
is visible in the struggle of organisms, has been marked by a progres- 
sive victory of brain over brawn, And this, in turn, may be regarded 
as but a manifestation of the process of survival by lability rather 
than by stability. Everywhere the organism that exhibits the 
qualities of quick response, of extreme sensibility to stimuli, of 
capacity to change, is the individual that survives, ‘‘conquers,” 
“advances.” The quality most useful in nature, from the point of 
view of the domination of a wider environment, is the quality of 
changeableness, plasticity, mobility, or versatility. Man’s particular 
means of adaptation to his environment is this quality of versatility. 
By means of this quality expressed through the manifold reactions 
of his highly organized central nervous system, man has been able to 
dominate the beasts and to maintain himself in an environment 
many times more extensive than theirs. Like the defensive mechan- 
isms of shells, poisons, and odors, man’s particular defensive mechan- 
ism—his versatility of nervous response (mind)—was acquired 
automatically as a result of a particular combination of circumstances 
in his environment. 

In the Tertiary era—some twenty millions of years ago—the 
earth, basking in the warmth of a tropical climate, had produced a 
luxuriant vegetation and a swarming progeny of gigantic small- 
brained animals for which the exuberant vegetation provided abun- 
dant and easily acquired sustenance. They were a breed of huge, 
clumsy, and grotesque monsters, vast in bulk and strength, but of 
little intelligence, that wandered heavily on the land and gorged 
lazily on the abundant food at hand. With the advance of the car- 
nivora, the primitive forerunners of our tigers, wolves, hyenas, and 
foxes, came a period of stress, comparable to a seven years of famine 
following a seven years of plenty, which subjected the stolid herbivo- 
rous monsters to a severe selective struggle. 

Before the active onslaught of lighter, lither, more intelligent 
foes, the clumsy, inelastic types succumbed, those only surviving 
which, through the fortunate possession of more varied reactions, 
were able to evolve modes of defense equal to the modes of attack 


524 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


possessed by their enemies. Many, unable to evolve the acute senses 
and the fleet limbs necessary for the combat on the ground, shrank 
from the fray and acquired more negative and passive means of 
defense. Some, like the bat, escaped into the air. Others, such as 
the squirrel and the ape, took refuge in the trees. 

It was in this concourse of weak creatures which fled to the trees 
because they lacked adequate means of offense, defense, or escape 
on the ground that the lineaments of man’s ancient ancestor might 
have been discerned. One can imagine what must have been the 
pressure from the carnivora that forced a selective transformation © 
of the feet of the progenitor of the anthropoids into grasping hands. 
Coincidentally with the tree life, man’s special line of adaptation— 
versatility—was undoubtedly rapidly evolved. Increased versatility 
and the evolution of hands enabled man to come down from the trees 
millions of years thereafter, to conquer the world by the further 
evolution and exercise of his organ of strategy—the brain. Thus 
we may suppose have arisen the intricate reactions we now call mind, 
reason, foresight, invention, etc. 

Man’s claim to a superior place among animals depends less upon 
different reactions than upon a greater number of reactions as com- 
pared with the reactions of “lower” animals. Ability to respond 
adaptively to more elemerits in the environment gives a larger 
dominion, that is all. 

The same measure applies within the human species—the number 
of nervous reactions of the artist, the financier, the statesman, the 
scientist, being invariably greater than the reactions of the stolid 
savage. That man alone of all animals should have achieved the 
degree of versatility sufficient for such advance is no more remarkable 
than that the elephant should have evolved a larger trunk and tusks 
than the boar; that the legs of the deer should be fleeter than those 
of the ox; that the wings of the swallow should outfly those of the 
bat. Each organism, in evolving the combination of characters 
commensurate with safety in its particular environment, has touched 
the limit of both its necessity and its power to ‘‘advance.”’ There 
exists abundant and reliable evidence of the fact that wherever man 
has been subjected to the stunting influences of an unchanging 
environment fairly favorable to life, he has shown no more disposition 
to progress than the most stolid animals. Indeed, he has usually 


COMPETITION 525 


retrograded. The need to fight for food and home has been the spur 
that has ever driven man forward to establish the manifold forms of 
physical and mental life which make up human existence today. 
Like the simple adaptive mechanisms of the plant by which it gets 
air, and of the animal by which it overcomes its rivals in battle, the 
supremely differentiated functions of thought and human relations 
are the outcome of the necessity of the organism to become adapted 

to entities in its environment. 


ety 


B. COMPETITION AND SEGREGATION 
1. Plant Migration, Competition, and Segregation’ 


Invasion is the complete or complex process of which migration, 
ecesis (the adjustment of a plant to a new home), and competition 
are the essential parts. It embraces the whole movement of a plant 
or group of plants from one area into another and their colonization 
in the latter. From the very nature of migration, invasion is going 
on at all times and in all directions. 

Effective invasion is predominantly local. It operates in mass 
only between bare areas and adjacent communities which contain 
species capable of pioneering, or between contiguous communities 
which offer somewhat similar conditions or contain species of wide 
range of adjustment. Invasion into a remote region rarely has any 
successional effect (effect tending to transform the character of a 
plant community), as the invaders are too few to make headway 
against the plants in possession or against those much nearer a new 
area. Invasion into a new area or a plant community begins with 
migration when this is followed by ecesis. In new areas, ecesis pro- 
duces reaction (the effect which a plant or a community exerts upon 
its habitat) at once, and this is followed by aggregation and compe- 
tition, with increasing reaction. In an area already occupied by 
plants, ecesis and competition are concomitant and quickly produce 
reactions. Throughout the development migrants are entering and 
leaving, and the interactions of the various processes come to be 


- complex in the highest degree. 


t Adapted from F. E. Clements, Plant Succession. An analysis of the 
development of vegetation, pp. 75-79. (Carnegie Institution of Washing- 
ton, 1916.) 


526 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Local invasion in force is essentially continuous or recurrent. 
Between contiguous communities it is mutual, unless they are too 
dissimilar. ‘The result is a transition area or ecotone which epito- 
mizes the next stage in development. By far the greater amount of 
invasion into existing vegetation is of this sort. ‘The movement into 
a bare area is likewise continuous, though it is necessarily not mutual, 
and hence there is no ecotone during the earlier stages. ‘The signifi- 
cant feature of continuous invasion is that an outpost may be repeat- 
edly reinforced, permitting rapid aggregation and ecesis, and the 
production of new centers from which the species may be extended 
over a wide area. Contrasted with continuous invasion is inter- 
mittent or periodic movement into distant regions, but this is rarely 
concerned in succession. When the movement of invaders into a 
community is so great that the original occupants are driven out, the 
invasion is complete. 

A topographic feature or a physical or a biological agency that 
restricts or prevents invasions is a barrier. Topographic features are 
usually permanent and produce permanent barriers. Biological ones 
are often temporary and exist for a few years or even a single season. 
Temporary barriers are often recurrent, however. Barriers are com- 
plete or incomplete with respect to the thoroughness of their action. 
They may affect invasion either by limiting migration or by pre- 
venting ecesis. 

Biological barriers comprise plant mmunities, man and animals, 
and parasitic plants. The limiting effect of a plant community is 
exhibited in two ways. In the first place, an association acts as a 
barrier to the ecesis of species invading it from associations of another 
type, on account of the physical differences of the habitats. Whether 
such a barrier be complete or partial will depend upon the relative 
unlikeness of the two areas. Shade plants are unable to invade a 
prairie, though the species of opgn thickets or woodland may do so to 
a certain degree. Closed_communities (one in which all the soil is 
occupied) likéwise exert a “marked influence in decreasing invasion by 
reason of the intense’and successful competition which all invaders 
must meet. Closed associations usually act as complete barriers, 
while more open ones restrict invasion in direct proportion to the 
degree of occupation. To this fact may be traced the fundamental law 
of succession (the law by which one type of community or formation 


COMPETITION 527 


is succeeded by another) that the number of stages is determined 
largely by the increasing difficulty of invasion as the area becomes 
stabilized. Man and animals affect invasion by the destruction of 
germules. Both in bare areas and in seral stages the action of rodents 
and birds is often decisive to the extent of altering the whole course of 
development. Man and animals operate as marked barriers to ecesis 
wherever they alter conditions unfavorably to invaders or where they 
turn the scale in competition by cultivating, grazing, camping, para- 
sitism, etc. The absence of pollinating insects is sometimes a curious 
barrier to the complete ecesis of species far out of their usual habitat 
or region. Parasitic fungi decrease migration in so far as they affect 
seed production. They restrict or prevent ecesis either by the 
destruction of invaders or by placing them at a disadvantage with 
respect to the occupants. 

By the term reaction is understood the effect which a plant or a 
community exerts upon its habitat. In connection with succession, 
the term is restricted to this special sense alone. It is entirely distinct 
from the response of the plant or group, ie., its adjustment and 
adaptation to the habitat. In short, the habitat causes the plant to 
function and grow, and the plant then reacts upon the habitat, chang- 
ing one or more of its factors in decisive or appreciable degree. The 
two processes are mutually complementary and often interact in 
most complex fashion. 

The reaction of a community is usually more than the sum of 
the reactions of the component species and individuals. It is the 
individual plant which produces the reaction, though the latter 
usually becomes recognizable through the combined action of the 
group. In most cases the action of the group accumulates or empha- 
sizes an effect which would otherwise be insignificant or temporary. 
A community of trees casts less shade than the same number of 
isolated individuals, but the shade is constant and continuous, and 
hence controlling. The significance of the community reaction is 
especially well shown in the case of leaf mold and duff. The leaf 
‘ litter is again only the total of the fallen leaves of all the individuals 
’ but its formation is completely dependent upon the community. The 
reaction of plants upon wind-borne sand and silt-laden waters illus- 
trates the same fact. 


528 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


a Migration and Segregation‘ 


All prehistoric investigation, as far as it relates to the phenomena 
of the animate world, necessarily rests upon the hypothesis of migra- 
tion. The distribution of plants, of the lower animals, and of men 
over the surface of the earth; the relationships existing between the 
different languages, religious conceptions, myths and legends, customs 
and social institutions—all these seem in this one assumption to find 
their common explanation. 

Each fresh advance in culture commences, so to speak, ‘with a 
new period of wandering. The most primitive agriculture is nomadic, 
with a yearly abandonment of the cultivated area; the earliest trade 
is migratory trade; the first industries that free themselves from the 
household husbandry and become the special occupations of separate 
individuals are carried on itinerantly.....The great founders of reli- 
gion, the earliest poets and philosophers, the musicians and actors 
of past epochs, are all great wanderers. Even today, do not the 
inventor, the preacher of a new doctrine, and the virtuoso travel 
from place to place in search of adherents and admirers—notwith- 
standing the immense recent development in the means of com- 
municating information ? 

As civilization grows older, settlement becomes more permanent. 
The Greek was more settled than the Phoenician, the Roman than 
the Greek, because one was always the inheritor of the culture of the 
other. Conditions have not changed. The German is more migra- 
tory than the Latin, the Slav than the German. The Frenchman 
cleaves to his native soil; the Russian leaves it with a light heart to 
seek in other parts of his broad fatherland more favorable conditions 
of living. Even the factory workman is but a periodically wandering 
peasant. 

To all that can be adduced from experience in support of the state- 
ment that in the course of history mankind has been ever growing 
more settled, there comes a general consideration of a twofold nature. 
In the first place, the extent of fixed capital grows with advancing cul- 
ture; the producer becomes stationary with his means of production. 


* Adapted from Carl Biicher, Industrial Evolution, pp. 345-69. (Henry Holt 
& Co., 1907.) 


COMPETITION 529 


The itinerant smith of the southern Slav countries and the West- 
phalian iron works, the pack-horses of the Middle Ages and the 
great warehouses of our cities, the Thespian carts and the resident 
theater mark the starting and the terminal points of this evolution. 
In the second place, the modern machinery of transportation has in 
a far higher degree facilitated the transport of goods than of persons. 
The distribution of labor determined by locality thereby attains 
greater importance than the natural distribution of the means of 
production; the latter in many cases draws the former after it, where 
previously the reverse occurred. 

The migrations occurring at the opening of the history of European 
peoples. are migrations of whole tribes, a pushing and pressing of 
collective units from east to west, which lasted for centuries. The 
migrations of the Middle Ages ever affect individual classes alone; 
the knights in the crusades, the merchants, the wage-craftsmen, the 
journeymen hand-workers, the jugglers ‘and minstrels, the villeins 
seeking protection within the walls of a town. Modern migrations, 
on the contrary, are generally a matter of private concern, the indi- 
viduals being led by the most varied motives. They are almost 
invariably without organization. The process repeating itself daily 
a thousand times is united only through the one characteristic, that 
it is everywhere a question of change of locality by persons seeking 
more favorable conditions of life. 

Among all the phenomena of masses in social life suited to statis- 
tical treatmegm there is without doubt scarcely one that appears to 
fall of itself completely under the general law of causality as 
migrations; and likewise hardly one concerning whose real cause 
such misty conceptions prevail. 

The whole department of migrations has never yet undergone 
systematic statistical observation; exclusive attention has hitherto 
been centered upon remarkable individual occurrences of such 
phenomena. Even a rational classification of migrations in accord 
with the demand of social science is at the present moment lacking. 

Such a classification would have to take as its starting-point the 
‘result of migrations from the point of view of population. On this 
basis they would fall into these groups: (1) migrations with continu- 
ous change of locality; (2) migrations with temporary change of 
settlement; (3) migrations with permanent settlement. 


530 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


To the first group belong gypsy life, peddling, the carrying on of 
itinerant trades, tramp life; to the second, the wandering of journey- 
men craftsmen, domestic servants, tradesmen seeking the most 
favorable spots for temporary undertakings, officials to whom a 
definite office is for a time entrusted, scholars attending foreign 
institutions of learning; to the ¢ird, migration from place to place 
within the same country or province and to foreign parts, especially 
across the ocean. 

An intermediate stage between the first and second group is 
found in the periodical migrations. ‘To this stage belong the migra- 
tions of farm laborers at harvest-time, of the sugar laborers at the 
time of the campagne, of the masons of Upper Italy and the Ticino 
district, common day-laborers, potters, chimney-sweeps, chestnut- | 
roasters, etc., which occur at definite seasons. 

In this division the influence of the natural and political insulation 
of the different countries is, it is true, neglected. It must not, how- 
ever, be overlooked that in the era of nationalism and protection 
of national labor political allegiance has a certain importance in 
connection with the objective point of the migrations. It would, 
therefore, in our opinion, be more just to make another division, 
taking as a basis the politico-geographical extent of the migrations. 
From this point of view migrations would fall into zmternal and 
foreign types. 

Internal migrations are those whose points of departure and 
destination lie within the same national limits; foreigpthose extend- 
ing beyond these. The foreign may again be ‘divided Mo continental 
and extra-European (generally transmaritime) emigration. One can, 
however, in a larger sense designate all migrations that do not 
leave the limits of the Continent as internal, and contrast with 
them real emigration, or transfer of domicile to other parts of 
the globe. 

Of all these manifold kinds of migration, the transmaritime alone 
has regularly been the subject of official statistics; and even it has 
been but imperfectly treated, as every student of this subject knows. 
The periodic emigrations of labor and the peddling trade have 
occasionally been also subjected to statistical investigation—mostly 
with the secondary aim of legislative restriction. Yet these migra-. 
tions from place to place within the same country are vastly more 


4 


COMPETITION i 531 


numerous and in their consequences vastly more important than all 
other kinds of migration put together. 

Of the total population of the kingdom of Belgium there were, 
according to the results of the census of December 31, 1880, not less 
than 32.8 per cent who were born outside the municipality in which 
they had their temporary domicile; of the population of Austria 
(1890), 34.8 per cent. In Prussia, of 27,279,111 persons, 11, 552,033, 
or 42.4 per cent, were born outside the municipality where they were 
domiciled. More than two-fifths of the population had changed 
their municipality at least once. 

If we call the total population born in a gi el PGA none guey a 
anywhere within the borders of the country that locality’s native 
population, then according to the conditions of interchange of popula- 
tion just presented the native population of the country places is 
greater than their actual population; that of the cities, smaller. 

A balancing of the account of the internal migrations in the grand 
duchy of Oldenburg gives the cities a surplus, and country municipali- 
ties a deficit, of 15,162 persons. In the economy of population one , 
is the complement of the other, just as in the case of two brothers of 
different temperament, one of whom regularly spends what the other 
has laboriously saved. To this extent, then, we are quite justified 
from the point of view of population in designating the’ cities man- 
consuming and the country municipalities man-producing social 


organisms. a / 
There iggg very natural explanation for this condition of affairs 
in the court™gy. Where the peasant, on account of the small popula- 


tion of his place of residence, is much restricted in his local choice of 
help, adjoining communities must supplement one another. In like 
map anne ae all 
manner the inhabitants of small places will interm e frequently 
than the inhabitants of larger places where there is a greater choice 
among the native population. Here we have the occasion for very 
numerous migrations to places not far removed. Such migrations, 
however, only mean a local exchange of socially allied elements. 
This absorption of the surplus of emigration over immigration is 

the characteristic of modern cities. If in our consideration of this 
problem we pay particular,attention to this urban characteristic and 
to a like feature of the factory districts—where the conditions as to 
internal migrations are almost similar—we shall be amply repaid bv 


. 


532 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the discovery that in such settlements the result of internal shiftings 
of population receives its clearest expression. Here, where the 
immigrant elements are most numerous, there develops between 
them and the native population a social struggle—a struggle for the 
best conditions of earning a livelihood or, if you will, for existence, 
which ends with the adaptation of one part to the other, or perhaps 
with the final subjugation of the one by the other. Thus, according 
to Schliemann, the city of Smyrna had in the year 1846 a population 
of 80,000 Turks and 8,o00 Greeks; in the year 1881, on the contrary, 
there were 23,000 Turks and 76,000 Greeks. The Turkish portion 
of the population had thus in thirty-five years decreased by 71 per 
cent, while the Greeks had increased ninefold. 

Not everywhere, to be sure, do those struggles take the form of 
such a general process of displacement; but in individual cases it 
will occur with endless frequency within a country that the stronger 
and better-equipped element will overcome the weaker and less 
well-equipped. 

Thus we have here a case similar to that occurring so frequently 
in nature: on the same terrain where a more highly organized plant 
or animal has no longer room for subsistence, others less exacting in 
their demands take up their position and flourish. The coming of 
the new is in fact not infrequently the cause of the disappearance 
of those already there and of their withdrawal to more favorable 
surroundings. 

If these considerations show that by no means tp siority of 
internal migrations find their objective point in the cities, they at 
the same time prove that the trend toward the great centers of 
population can in itself be looked upon as having an extensive social 
and economic importance. It produces an alteration in the distribu- 
tion of population throughout the state; and at its originating and 
objective points it gives rise to difficulties which legislative and 
executive authority has hitherto labored, usually with but very 
moderate success, to overcome. It transfers large numbers of 
persons almost directly from a sphere of life where barter predominates 
into one where money and credit exchange prevail, thereby affecting 
the social conditions of life and the social customs of the manual 
laboring classes in a manner to fill the philanthropist with grave 
anxiety. 





COMPETITION 533 


3. Demographic Segregation and Social Selection’ 


There are two ways in which demographic crystallization may 
have taken place. A people may have become rigid horizontally, 
divided into castes, or social strata; or it may be geographically 
segregated into localized communities, varying in size all the way 
from the isolated hamlet to the highly individualized nation. Both 
of these forms of crystallization are breaking down today under the 
pressure of modern industrialism and democracy, in Europe as well 
as in America. | 

The sudden growth of great cities is the first result of the phe- 
nomenon of migration which we have to note. We think of this as 
essentially an American problem. We comfort ourselves in our fail- 
ures of municipal administration with that thought. This is a 
grievous deception. Most of the European cities have increased in 
population more rapidly than in America. This is particularly true 
of great German urban centers. Berlin has outgrown our own 
metropolis, New York, in less than a generation, having in twenty- 
five years added as many actual new residents as Chicago, and twice 
as many as Philadelphia. Hamburg has gained twice as many in 
population since 1875 as Boston; Leipzig has distanced St. Louis. 
The same demographic outburst has occurred in the smaller German 
cities as well. Beyond the confines of the German Empire, from 
Norway to Italy, the same is true. 

Contemporaneously with this marvellous growth of urban centers 
we observe a progressive depopulation of the rural districts. What 
is going on in our New England states, especially in Massachusetts, is 
entirely characteristic of large areas in Europe. Take France, for 
example. The towns are absorbing even more than the natural 
increment of country population; they are drawing off the middle- 
aged as well as the young. Thus great areas are being actually 
depopulated. 

A process of selection is at work on a grand scale. The great 
majority today who are pouring into the cities are those who, like the 
_emigrants to the United States in the old days of natural migration, 
come because they have the physical equipment and the mental 


*From William Z. Ripley, The Races of Europe, pp. 537-59. (D. Appleton 
& Co., 1899.) 


534 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


disposition to seek a betterment of their fortunes away from home. 
Of course, an appreciable contingent of sucti migrant types is composed 
of the merely discontented, of the restless, and the adventurous; but, 
in the. main, the best blood of the land it is which feeds into the 
arteries of city life. 3 

Another more certain mode of proof is possible for demonstrating 
that the population of cities is largely made up either of direct immi- 
grants from the country or of their immediate descendants. In 
German cities, Hansen found that nearly one-half their residents 
were of direct country descent. In London it has been shown that 
over one-third of its population are immigrants; and in Paris the same 
is true. For thirty of the principal cities of Europe it has been 
calculated that only about one-fifth of their increase is from the loins 
of their own people, the overwhelming majority being of country 
birth. 

The first physical characteristic of urban populations, as compared 
with those of country districts, which we have to note, is their ten- 
dency toward that shape of head characteristic of two of our racial 
types, Teutonic and Mediterranean respectively. It seems as if for 
some reason the broad-headed Alpine race was a distinctly rural type. 
Thirty years ago an observer in the ethnically Alpine district of south 
central France noted an appreciable difference between town and 
country in the head form of the people. In a half-dozen of the 
smaller cities his observations pointed to a greater prevalence of the 
long-headed type than in the country roundabout. Dr. Ammon of 
Carlsruhe, working upon measurements of thousands of conscripts of 
the Grand Duchy of Baden, discovered radical differences here between 
the head form in city and country, and between the upper and lower 
classes in the larger towns. Several explanations for this were pos- 
sible. The direct influence of urban life might conceivably have 
brought it about, acting through superior education, habits of life, 
and the like. There was no psychological basis for this assumption. | 
Another tenable hypothesis was that in these cities, situated, as we - 
have endeavored to show, in a land where two racial types of popula- 
ion were existing side by side, the city for some reason exerted 
superior powers of attraction upon the long-headed race. If this were 
true, then by a combined process of social and racial selection, the 
towns would be continually drawing unto themselves that tall and 








COMPETITION 535 


blond Teutonic type of population which, as history teaches us, has 
dominated social and political affairs in Europe for centuries. This 
suggested itself as the probable solution of the question; and investi- 
gations all over Europe during the last five years have been directed 
to the further analysis of the matter. 

Is this phenomenon, the segregation of a long-héaded physical 
type in city populations, merely the manifestation of a restless ten- 
dency on the part of the Teutonic race to reassert itself in the new 
phases of nineteenth-century competition? All through history this 
type has been characteristic of the dominant classes, especially in 
military and political, perhaps rather than purely intellectual, affairs. 
All the leading dynasties of Europe have long been recruited from its 
ranks. ‘The contrast of this type, whose energy has carried it all over 
Europe, with the persistently sedentary Alpine race is very marked. 
A certain passivity, or patience, is characteristic of the Alpine peas- 
antry. Asa rule, not characterized by the domineering spirit of the 
Teuton, this Alpine type makes a comfortable and contented neighbor, 
a resigned and peaceful subject. Whether this rather negative char- 
acter of the Alpine race is entirely innate, or whether it is in part, like 
many of its social phenomena, merely a reflection from the almost 
invariably inhospitable habitat in which it has long been isolated, we 
may not pretend to decide. 

Let us now for a moment take up the consideration of a second 
physical characteristic of city populations—viz., stature. If there be 
a law at all in respect of average statures, it demonstrates rather the 
depressing effects of city life than the reverse. For example, Ham- 
burg is far below the average for Germany. All over Britain there are 
indications of this law, that town populations are, on the average, 
comparatively short of stature. Dr. Beddoe, the great authority upon 
this subject, concludes his investigation of the population of Great 
Britain thus: “It may therefore be taken as proved that the stature of 
men in the large towns of Britain is lowered considerably below the 
standard of the nation, and as probable that such degradation is 
hereditary and progressive.”’ 

A most important point in this connection is the great variability 
of city populations in size. All observers comment upon this. It is 
of profound significance. The people of the west and east ends in 
each city differ widely. The population of the aristocratic quarters 


536 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


is often found to exceed in stature the people of the tenement districts. 
We should expect this, of course, as a direct result of the depressing 
influence of unfavorable environment. Yet there is apparently 
another factor underlying that—viz., social selection. While cities 
contain so large a proportion of degenerate physical types as on the 
average to fall below the surrounding country in stature, nevertheless 
they also are found to include an inordinately large number of very 
tall and well-developed individuals. In other words, compared with 
the rural districts, where all men are subject to the same conditions of 
life, we discover in the city that the population has differentiated into 
the very tall and the very short. 

The explanation for this phenomenon is simple. Yet it is not 
direct, as in Topinard’s suggestion that it is a matter of race or that a 
change of environment operates to stimulate growth. Rather does it 
appear that it is the growth which suggests the change. The tall men 
are in the main those vigorous, mettlesome, presumably healthy 
individuals who have themselves, or in the person of their fathers, 
come to the city in search of the prizes which urban life has to offer 
to the successful. On the other hand, the degenerate, the-stunted, 
those who entirely outnumber the others so far as to drag the average 
for the city as a whole below the normal, are the grist turned out by 
the city mill. They are the product of the tenement, the sweat shop, 
vice, and crime. Of course, normally developed men, as ever, con- 
stitute the main bulk of the population, but these two widely divergent 
classes attain a very considerable representation. 

We have seen thus far that evidence seems to point to an aggre- 
gation of the Teutonic long-headed population in the urban centers 
of Europe. Perhaps a part of the tall stature in some cities may be 
due to such racial causes, A curious anomaly now remains, however, 
to be noted. City populations appear to manifest a distinct tendency 
toward brunetness—that is to say, they seem to comprise an abnormal 
proportion of brunet traits, as compared with the neighboring rural 
districts. This tendency was strikingly shown to characterize the 
entire German Empire when its six million school children were exam- 
ined under Virchow’s direction. In twenty-five out of thirty-three of 
the larger cities were the brunet traits more frequent than in the country. 

Austria offers confirmation of the same tendency toward brunet- 
ness in twenty-four out of its thirty-three principal cities. Farther 


COMPETITION 537 


south, in Italy, it was noted much earlier that cities contained fewer 
blonds than were common in the rural districts roundabout. In 
conclusion let us add, not as additional testimony, for the data are 
too defective, that among five hundred American students at the 
Institute of Technology in Boston, roughly classified, there were 9 
per cent of pure brunet type among those of country birth and train- 
ing, while among those of urban birth and parentage the percentage 
of such brunet type rose as high as 15. 

It is not improbable that there is in brunetness, in the dark hair 
and eye, some indication of vital superiority. If this were so, it 
would serve as a partial explanation for the social phenomena which 
we have been at so much pains to describe. If in the same commu- 
nity there were a slight vital advantage in brunetness, we should 
expect to find that type slowly aggregating in the cities; for it requires 
energy and courage, physical as well as mental, not only to break the 
ties of home and migrate, but also to maintain one’s self afterward 
under the stress of urban life. 

From the preceding formidable array of testimony it appears that 
the tendency of urban populations is certainly not toward the pure 
blond, long-headed, and tall Teutonic type. The phenomenon of 
urban selection is something more complex than a mere migration of 
a single racial element in the population toward the cities. The 
physical characteristics of townsmen are too contradictory for ethnic 
explanations alone. To be sure, the tendencies are slight; we are not 
even certain of their universal existence at all. We are merely 
watching for their verification or disproof. There is, however, nothing 
improbable in the phenomena we have noted. Naturalists have 
always turned to the environment for the final solution of many of 
the great problems of nature. In this case we have to do with one 
of the most sudden and radical changes of environment known to man. 
_Every condition of city life, mental as well as physical, is at the polar - 
extreme from those which prevail in the country. To deny that great 
modifications in human structure and functions may be effected by a 
change from one to the other is to gainsay all the facts of natural 


history. 


538 | INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY | 


4. Inter-racial Competition and Race Suicide’ 


I have thus far spoken of the foreign arrivals at our ports, as 
estimated. Beginning with 1820, however, we have custom-house 
statistics of the numbers of persons annually landing upon our 
shores. Some of these, indeed, did not remain here; yet, rudely 
speaking, we may call them all immigrants. Between 1820 and 
1830, population grew to 12,866,020. The number of foreigners 
arriving in the ten years was 151,000. Here, then, we have for 
forty years an increase, substantially all out of the loins of the four 
millions of our own people living in 1790, amounting to almost nine 
millions, or 227 per cent. Such a rate of increase was never known 
before or since, among any considerable population over any exten- 
sive region. 

About this time, however, we reach a turning-point in the history 
of our population. In the decade 1830-40 the number of foreign 
arrivals greatly increased. Immigration had not, indeed, reached 
the enormous dimensions of these later days. Yet, during the decade 
in question, the foreigners coming to the United States were almost 
exactly fourfold those coming in the decade preceding, or 599,000. 
The question now of vital importance is this: Was the population of 
the country correspondingly increased? JIanswer, No! The popula- 
tion of 1840 was almost exactly what, by computation, it would 

“have been had no increase in foreign arrivals taken place. Again, 
between 1840 and 1850, a still further access of foreigners occurred, 
this time of enormous dimensions, the arrivals of the decade amount- 
ing to not less than 1,713,000. Of this gigantic total, 1,048,000 were 
from the British Isles, the Trish famine of 1846-47 having driven 
hundreds of thousands of miserable peasants to seek food upon our 
shores. Again we ask, Did this excess constitute a net gain to the 
population of the country? Again the answer is, No! Population 

- showed no increase over the proportions established before immigra- 
tion set in like a flood. In other words, as the foreigners began to 
come in larger numbers, the native population more and more with- 
held their own increase. 

Now this correspondence might be accounted for in three different’ 
ways: (1) It might be said that it was a mere coincidence, no relation 


t Adapted from Francis A. Walker, Economics and Statistics, II, 421-26. 
(Henry Holt & Co., 1899.) 


COMPETITION 539 


of cause and effect existing between the two phenomena. (2) It 
might he said that the foreigners came because the native population 
was relatively declining, that is, failing to keep up its pristine rate of 
increase. (3) It might be said that the growth of the native popula- 
tion was checked by the incoming of the foreign elements in such 
large numbers. 

The view that the correspondence referred to was a mere coin- 
cidence, purely accidental in origin, is perhaps that most commonly 
taken. If this be the true explanation, the coincidence is a most 
remarkable one. In the June number of this magazine, I cited the 
predictions as to the future population of the country made by 
Elkanah Watson, on the basis of the censuses of 1790, 1800, and 
1810, while immigration still remained at a minimum. Now let us 
place together the actual census figures for 1840 and 1850, Watson’s 
estimates for those years, and the foreign arrivals during the preceding 
decade: 








1840 1850 
eeeeCetis iP Menace ght! 5.01.4. 0) ohh, Maw 7,000.453". 23,191,876 
Watson spectimates) i) 6.57/15. 1s) seston 17,116;526') 23,185,368 
The difierence . . . —47,973 +6,508 
Foreign arrivals during a sheenine 
ouiieeres se ere eh ee 599,000 = 1,713,000 


Here we see that, in spite of the arrival of 500,000 foreigners 
during the period 1830-40, four times as many as had arrived during 
any preceding decade, the figures of the census coincided closely with 
the estimate of Watson, based on the growth of population in the 
pre-immigration era, falling short of it by only 47,073 in a total of 
17,000,000; while in 1850 the actual population, in spite of the arrival 
of 1,713,000 more immigrants, exceeded Watson’s estimates by only 
6,508 in a total of 23,000,000. Surely, if this correspondence between 
the increase of the foreign element and the relative decline of the 
native element is a mere coincidence, it is one of the most astonishing 
in human history. The actuarial degree of improbability as to a 
coincidence so close, over a range so vast, I will not undertake to 
compute. 

If, on the other hand, it be alleged that the relation of cause and 
effect existed between the two phenomena, this might be put in two 


\ 


540 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


widely different ways: either that the foreigners came in increasing 
numbers because the native element was relatively declining, or 
that the native element failed to maintain its previous rate of increase 
because the foreigners came in such swarms. What shall we say of 
the former of these explanations? Does anything more need to be 
said than that it is too fine to be the real explanation of a big human 
fact like this we are considering? To assume that at such a distance 
in space, in the then state of news-communication and ocean-trans- 
portation, and in spite of the ignorance and extreme poverty of the 
peasantries of Europe from which the immigrants were then generally 
drawn, there was so exact a degree of knowledge not only of the fact 
that the native elemcnt here was not keeping up its rate of increase 
but also of the precise ratio of that decline as to enable those peasant- 
ries, with or without a mutual understanding, to supply just the 
numbers necessary to bring our population up to its due proportions, 
would be little less than laughable. Today, with quick passages, 
cheap freights, and ocean transportation there is not a single whole- 
sale trade in the world carried on with this degree of knowledge, or 
attaining anything like this point of precision in results. 

The true explanation of the remarkable fact we are considering I 
believe to be the last of the three suggested. The access of foreigners, 
at the time and under the circumstances, constituted a shock to the 
principle of population among the native element. ‘That principle is 
always acutely sensitive alike to sentimental and to economic condi- 
tions. And it is to be noted, in passing, that not only did the decline 
in the native element, as a whole, take place in singular correspondence 
with the excess of foreign arrivals, but it occurred chiefly in just 
those regions to which the newcomers most freely resorted. 

But what possible reason can be suggested why the incoming of 
the foreigner should have checked the disposition of the native 
toward the increase of population at the traditional rate? I answer 
that the best of good reasons can be assigned. Throughout the 
northeastern and northern middle states, into which, during the 
period under consideration, the newcomers poured in such numbers, 
the standard of material living, of general intelligence, of social 
decency, had been singularly high. Life, even at its hardest, had 
always had its luxuries; the babe had been a thing of beauty, to be 
delicately nurtured and proudly exhibited; the growing child had 


COMPETITION 541 


been decently dressed, at least for school and church; the house had 
been kept in order, at whatever cost, the gate hung, the shutters in 
place, while the front yard had been made to bloom with simple 
flowers; the village church, the public schoolhouse, had been the 
best which the community, with great exertions and sacrifices, could 
erect and maintain. Then came the foreigner, making his way into 
the little village, bringing—small blame to him!—not only a vastly 
lower standard of living, but too often an actual present incapacity 
even to understand the refinements of life and thought in the com- 
munity in which he sought a home’ Our people had to look upon 
houses that were mere shells for humén habitations, the gate unhung, 
the shutters flapping or falling, green pools in the yard, babes and 
young children rolling about half naked or worse, neglected, dirty, 
unkempt. Was there not in this a sentimental reason strong enough 
to give a shock to the principle of population? But there was, © 
besides, an economic reason for a check to the native increase. The 
American shrank from the industrial competition thus thrust upon 
him. He was unwilling himself to engage in the lowest kind of 
day labor with these new elements of the population; he was even 
more unwilling to bring sons and daughters into the world to enter 
into that competition. For the first time in our history, the people 
of the free states became divided into classes. Those classes were 
natives and foreigners. Politically, the distinction had only a 
certain force, which yielded more or less readily under partisan 
pressure; but socially and industrially that distinction has been a 
tremendous power, and its chief effects have been wrought upon 
population. Neither the social companionship nor the industrial 
competition of the foreigner has, broadly speaking, been welcome to 
the native. 

It hardly needs to be said that the foregoing descriptions are not 
intended to apply to all of the vast body of immigrants during this 
period. ‘Thousands came over from good homes; many had all the 
advantages of education and culture; some possessed the highest 
qualities of manhood and citizenship. 

But let us proceed with the census. By 1860 the causes operat- 
ing to reduce the growth of the native element—to which had then 
manifestly been added the force of important changes in the manner of 
living, the introduction of more luxurious habits, the influence of 


542 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


city life, and the custom of ‘‘boarding’”’—had reached such a height 
as, in spite of a still-increasing immigration, to leave the population 
of the country 310,503 below the estimate. The fearful losses of the 
Civil War and the rapid extension of havits unfavorable to increase 
of numbers make any further use of Watson’s computations unin- 
structive; yet still the great fact protrudes through all the subsequent 
history of our population that the more rapidly foreigners came into 
the United States, the smaller was the rate of increase, not merely 
among the native population separately, but throughout the popula- 
tion of the country, as a whole, including the foreigners. The climax 
of this movement was reached when, during the decade 1880-90, the 
foreign arrivals rose to the monstrous total of five and a quarter 
millions (twice what had ever before been known), while the popula- 
tion, even including this enormous re-enforcement, increased more 
.slowly than in any other period of our history except, possibly, that 
of the great Civil War. 

If the foregoing views are true, or contain any considerable 
degree of truth, foreign immigration into this country has, from the 
time it first assumed large proportions, amounted, not to a reinforce- 
ment of our population, but to a replacement of native by foreign 
stock. That if the foreigners had not come the native element would 
long have filled the places the foreigners usurped, I entertain not a 
doubt. ‘The competency of the American stock to do this it would 
be absurd to question, in the face of such a record as that for 1790 to 
1830. During the period from 1830 to 1860 the material conditions of 
existence in this country were continually becoming more and more 
favorable to the increase of population from domestic sources. The old 
man-slaughtering medicine was being driven out of civilized communi- 
ties; houses were becoming larger; the food and clothing of the people 
were becoming ampler and better. Nor was the cause which, about 
1840 or 1850, began to retard the growth of population here to be 
found in the climate which Mr. Clibborn stigmatizes so severely.’ 
The climate of the United States has been benign enough to enable 
us to take the English shorthorn and greatly to improve it, as the 
re-exportation of that animal to England at monstrous prices abun- 
dantly proves; to take the English race-horse and to improve him toa 
degree of which the startling victories of Parole, Iroquois, and Foxhall 
afford but a suggestion; to take the Englishman and to improve him, 


COMPETITION 543 


too, adding agility to his strength, making his eye keener and his 
hand steadier, so that in rowing, in riding, in shooting, and in boxing, 
the American of pure English stock is today the better animal. No! 
Whatever were the causes which checked the growth of the native 
population, they were neither physiological nor climatic. They 
were mainly social and economic; and chief among them was the 
access of vast hordes of foreign immigrants, bringing with them a 


standard of living at which our own people revolted. Prog 


5. Competition, Commercial Organization, and the 
Metropolitan Economy’ 


If we cast our thought no farther back than_the permanent 
settlement of clans and tribes, we see that theré are three general 
stages which sum up much of the economic life of\the times: village 
economy, town economy, and metropolitan economy. Each is a 
unit of production. Each has a center of trade, though the importance 
of trade is, of course, not so great at firstaslater..... In the pro?res- 
sion from one stage to another we see not only a greater specialization, 
but a greater general division of labor, a larger surplus and store of 
goods, and more immunity from distress and famine. 

Just as the tribal and later the feudal state reflected the village, 
as the early national state reflected the town, so does the state today 
reflect the metropolis. The village mobilized labor, the town mobi- 
lized skill in trade and manufacture, and now the metropolis mobilizes 
capital and management in support of the state. 

By metropolitan economy is meant the concentration of the trade 
of a wide area in one great city. While the radius of the area domi- 
nated commercially by the medieval town had rarely been more than 
a score of miles, the radius of the area dominated by a metropolis is 
roughly a hundred miles or more in length. 

The structure of the metropolitan economic unit is made up, 
firstly, of the metropolis itself with its merchants, bankers, warehouse- 
men, transport officials, and other specialized men of business; and 
secondly, of the district or hinterland with its towns and villages, its 
‘countryside of farms, forests, streams, and mines. The metropolis 


«From N.S. B. Gras, ‘““The Development of Metropolitan Economy in Europe 
and America,” American Historical Review, XXVII (1921-22), 698-705. 


ees, 


544 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and its hinterland are integral parts of the metropolitan unit, but they 
are not constant in the areas which they occupy. While the metropolis 
itself widens its confines with general economic development, the 
hinterland decreases in size. ‘The area occupied by greater London 
increases year by year, while the hinterland diminishes as Manchester- 
Liverpool grows in strength and influence. Greater Chicago grows 
while its hinterland is being nibbled away by Cleveland, St. Louis, 
Kansas City, and the Twin Cities. 

The essential part of the metropolitan economy is not size or 
structure but function. ‘The metropolis concentrates the trade of a 
wide district. It is the gathering-place for the products of that 
district. It is also the place from which wares already concentrated 
from many lands and sections radiate to the whole hinterland. More- 
over, it is the point through which the hinterland normally trades 
with other metropolitan units. It is more economical for a few dealers 
in a metropolis to specialize in the inter-metropolitan trade, which is 
usually wholesale, than: for traders located in small towns in the 
hinterland to maintain connections and credits with distant parts. 
If we wish to visualize the whole metropolitan mechanism we have 
only to think of a web with the master spider in the center. The 
concentration and radiation of such a*pattern are in marked contrast 
to the duplication and parallelism of the alternative checkerboard. 
The saving in materials, labor, and management is enormous; other- 
wise the spider would not have so constructed its net. Metropolitan 
economy likewise exists because of its efficiency as a unit in pro- 
duction. Public policy, national administration, even socialism would 
hardly long continue an attempt to alter so economical an organ- 
ization. 

If we wish to visualize metropolitan growth we have only to 
examine the metropolis itself. The retail section may represent the 
old town economy. The wholesale district is the prosaic memorial 
of the first phase of metropolitan economy. The industrial suburb 
contains most of what is left of metropolitan manufacture after the 
period of decentralization. The wharves and the railroad terminals 
show where extended and hinterland trade meet within the metropolis. 
And the financial district with its mint, stock exchange, banks, 
insurance offices, and brokers constitutes the most sensitive spot in 
the metropolitan nerve-center. 


COMPETITION 545 


Such is the fully developed metropolitan organization in the sense 
that it has a constitution, or that there is an agreement whereby 
transactions are made. It is just a unit of public economy that has 
grown up gradually to perform cheaply and efficiently the business of 
managing production. Goods enter the metropolis and leave it. 
The metropolis performs one set of tasks, the hinterland another. 
Both are industrial, financial, and commercial; but the metropolis is 
pre-eminently commercial and financial. 


C. ECONOMIC COMPETITION 


1. Changing Forms of Economic Competition? 


There is a sense in which much of the orthodox system of political 
economy is eternally true. Conclusions reached by valid reasoning 
are always as true as the hypotheses from which they are deduced. 
It will remain forever true that if unlimited competition existed, most 
of the traditional laws would be realized in the practical world. It 
will also be true that in those corners of the industrial field which 
still show an approximation to Ricardian competition there will be 
seen as much of correspondence between theory and fact as candid 
reasoners claim. If political economy will but content itself with 
this kind of truth, it need never be disturbed by industrial revolutions. 
The science need not trouble itself to progress. 

This hypothetical truth, or science of what would take place if 
society were fashioned after an ideal pattern, is not what Ricardo 
believed that he had discovered. His system was positive; actual 
life suggested it by developing tendencies for which the scientific 
formulas which at that time were traditional could not account. 
It was a new industrial world which called for a modernized system 
of economic doctrine. Ricardo was the first to understand the situ- 
ation, to trace the new tendencies to their consummation, and to create 
a scientific system by insight and foresight. He outran history in 
the process, and mentally created a world more relentlessly competitive 
than any which has existed; and yet it was fact and not imagination 
that lay at the basis of the whole system. Steam had been utilized, 
machines were supplanting hand labor, workmen were migrating 


Adapted from John B. Clark, ‘‘The Limits of Competition,” in Clark and 
Giddings, The Modern Distributive Process, pp. 2-8. (Ginn & Co., 1888.) 


546 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


to new centers of production, guild regulations were giving way, 
and competition of a type unheard of before was beginning to 
prevail. 

A struggle for existence had commenced between parties of 
unequal strength. In manufacturing industries the balance of power 
had been disturbed by steam, and the little shops of former times 
were disappearing. The science adapted to such conditions was an 
economic Darwinism; it embodied the laws of a struggle for existence 
between competitors of the new and predatory type and those of the 
peaceable type which formerly possessed the field. Though the 
process was savage, the outlook which it afforded was not wholly 
evil. The survival of crude strength was, in the long run, desirable. 
Machines and factories meant, to every social class, cheapened goods 
and more comfortable living. Efficient working establishments were 
developing; the social organism was perfecting itself for its contest 
with crude nature. It was a fuller and speedier dominion over the 
earth which was to result from the concentration of human energy 
now termed centralization. 

The error unavoidable to the theorists of the time lay in basing. 
a scientific system on the facts afforded by a state of revolution. 
This was attempting to derive permanent principles from transient 
phenomena. Some of these principles must become obsolete; and 
the work demanded of modern economists consists in separating the 
transient from the permanent in the Ricardian system. How much 
of the doctrine holds true when the struggle between unequal com- 
petitors is over, and when a few of the very strongest have possession 
of the field? 

In most branches of manufacturing, and in other than local trans- 
portation, the contest between the strong and the weak is either 
settled or in process of rapid settlement. The survivors are becoming 
so few, so powerful, and so nearly equal that if the strife were to 
continue, it would bid fair to involve them all in a common ruin. 
What has actually developed is not such a battle of giants but a system 
of armed neutralities and federations of giants. The new era is 
distinctly one of consolidated forces; rival establishments are forming 
combinations, and the principle of union is extending itself to the labor 
andthe capital in each of them. Laborerswho once competed with each 
other are now making their bargains collectively with their employers. 








COMPETITION 547 


Employers who under the old régime would have worked independ- 
ently are merging their capital in corporations and allowing it to be 
managed as by a single hand. 

Predatory competition between unequal parties was the basis of 
the Ricardian system. ‘This process was vaguely conceived and never 
fully analyzed; what was prominent in the thought of men in con- 
nection with it was the single element of struggle. Mere effort to 
survive, the Darwinian feature of the process, was all that, in some 
uses, the term “competition”? was made to designate. Yet the 
competitive action of an organized society is systematic; each part 
of it is limited to a specific field, and tends, within these limits, to 
self-annihilation. 

An effort to attain a conception of competition that should remove 
some of the confusion was made by Professor Cairnes. His system 
of “‘non-competing groups” is a feature of his value theory, which is 
a noteworthy contribution to economic thought. Mr. Mill had 
followed Ricardo in teaching that the natural price of commodities 
is governed by the cost of producing them. Professor Cairnes accepts 
this statement, but attaches to it a meaning altogether new. He 
says, in effect: 


Commodities do indeed exchange according to their cost of production; 
but cost is something quite different from what currently passes by that 
name. That is merely the outlay incurred by the capitalist-employer for 
raw materials, labor, etc. The real cost is the personal sacrifice made by 
the producing parties, workmen as well as employers. It is not a mercan- 
tile but a psychological phenomenon, a reaction upon the men themselves 
occasioned by the effort of the laborer and the abstinence of the capitalist. 
These personal sacrifices gauge the market value of commodities within 
the fields in which, in the terms of the theory, competition is free. The 
adjustment takes place through the spontaneous movement of capital and 
labor from employments that yield small returns to those that give larger 
ones. Capital migrates freely from place to place and from occupation 
to occupation. If one industry is abnormally profitable, capital seeks it, 
increases and cheapens its product, and reduces its profits to the prevailing 
level. Profits tend to a general uniformity. 


Wages are said to tend to equality only within limits. The 
transfer of labor from one employment to another is checked by 
barriers. 


548 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What we find, in effect [continues Professor Cairnes], is not a whole 
population competing indiscriminately for all occupations, but a series of 
industrial layers, superimposed on one another, within each of which the 
various candidates for employment possess a real and effective power of 
selection, while those occupying the several strata are, for all purposes of 
effective competition, practically isolated from each other. We may per- 
haps venture to arrange. them in some such order as this: first, at the 
bottom of the scale there would be the large group of unskilled or nearly 
unskilled laborers, comprising agricultural laborers, laborers engaged in 
miscellaheous occupations in towns, or acting.in attendance on skilled labor. 
Secondly, there would be the artisan group, comprising skilled laborers of 
the secondary order—carpenters, joiners, smiths, masons, shoemakers, 
tailors, hatters, etc., etc.—with whom might be included the very large 
class of small retail dealers, whose means and position place them within 
the reach of the same industrial opportunities as the class of artisans. 
The third layer would contain producers and dealers of a higher order, 
whose work would demand qualifications only obtainable by persons of 
substantial means and fair educational opportunities; for example, civil 
and mechanical engineers, chemists, opticians, watchmakers, and others of 
the same industrial grade, in which might also find a place the superior 
class of retail tradesmen; while above these there would be a fourth, com- 
prising persons still more favorably circumstanced, whose ampler means 
would give them a still wider choice. This last group would contain mem- 
bers of the learned professions, as well as persons engaged in the various 
careers of science and art, and in the higher branches of mercantile 
business. | 


It is essential to the theory that not only workmen but their 
children should be confined to a producing group. The equalizing 
process may take place even though men do not actually abandon 
one occupation and enter another; for there exists, in the generation 
of young men not yet committed to any occupation, a disposable 
fund of labor which will gravitate naturally to the occupations that 
pay the largest wages. It is not necessary that blacksmiths should 
ever become shoemakers, or vice versa, but only that the children 
of both classes of artisans should be free to enter the trade that is 
best rewarded. 

Professor Cairnes does not claim that his classification is exhaus- 
tive, nor that the demarcation is absolute: 

No doubt the various ranks and classes fade into each other by imper- 
ceptible gradations, and individuals from all classes are constantly passing 


a 


COMPETITION 549 


up or dropping down; but while this is so, it is nevertheless true that the 
average workman, from whatever rank he be taken, finds his power of 
competition limited for practical purposes to a certain range of occupations, 
so that, however high the rates of remuneration in those which lie beyond 
may rise, he is excluded from sharing them. We are thus compelled to 
recognize the existence of non-competing industrial groups as a feature of 
our social economy. 


It will be seen that the competition which is here under dis- 
cussion is of an extraordinary kind; and the fact that the general term 
is applied to it without explanation is a proof of the vagueness of the 
conceptions of competition with which acute writers have contented 
themselves. Actual competition consists invariably in an effort to 
undersell a rival producer. A carpenter competes with a carpenter 
because he creates a similar utility and offers it in the market. In 
the theory of Professor Cairnes the carpenter is the competitor of 
the blacksmith, because his children may enter the blacksmith’s 
calling. In the actual practice of his own trade, the one artisan in 
no wise affects the other. It is potential competition rather than 
actual that is here under discussion; and even this depends for its 
effectiveness on the action of the rising generation. 

Modern methods of production have obliterated Professor 
Cairnes’s dividing lines. Potential competition extends to every 
part of the industrial field in which men work in organized companies. 
Throwing out of account the professions, a few trades of the highest 
sort, and the class of labor which is performed by employers themselves 
and their salaried assistants, it is practically true that labor is in a 
universal ebb and flow; it passes freely to occupations which are, 
for the time being, highly paid, and reduces their rewards to the 
general level. 

This objection to the proposed grouping is not theoretical. The 
question is one of fact; it is the development of actual industry that 
has invalidated the theory which, in the seventies, expressed an 
important truth concerning economic relations in England. More- 
over, the author of the theory anticipated one change which would 
somewhat lessen its applicability to future conditions. He recorded 
his belief that education would prove a leveler, and that it would 
merge to some extent the strata of industrial society. The children 
of hod-carriers might become machinists, accountants, or lawyers 


550 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


when they could acquire the needed education. He admitted also 
that new countries afford conditions in which the lines of demarcation 
are faint. He was not in a position to appreciate the chief leveling 
agency, namely, the machine method of production as now extended 
and perfected. Education makes the laborer capable of things 
relatively difficult, and machines render the processes which he 
needs to master relatively easy. The so-called unskilled workmen 
stand on a higher personal level than those of former times; and the 
new methods of manufacturing are reducing class after class to that 
level. Mechanical labor is resolving itself into processes so simple 
that anyone may learn them. An old-time shoemaker could not 
become a watchmaker, and even his children would have found 
difficulties in their way had they attempted to master the higher 
trade; but a laster in a Lynn shoe factory can, if he will, learn one 
of the minute trades that are involved in the making of a Waltham 
watch. His children may do so without difficulty; and this is all 
that is necessary for maintaining the normal balance between the 
trades. 

The largest surviving differences between workmen are moral. 
Bodily strength still counts for something, and mental strength 
- for more; but the consideration which chiefly determines the value 
of a workman to the employer who irtrusts to him costly materials 
and a delicate machine is the question of fidelity. Character is not 
monopolized by any social class; it is of universal growth, and tends 
by the prominent part which it plays in modern industry, to reduce 
to their lowest terms the class differences of the former era. 

The rewards of professional life are gauged primarily by character 
and native endowment, and are, to this extent, open to the children 
of workmen. New barriers, however, arise here in the ampler edu- 
cation which, as time advances, is demanded of persons in these pur- 
suits; and these barriers give to a part of the fourth and highest 
class in the scheme that we are criticising a permanent basis of 
existence. Another variety of labor retains a pre-eminence based 
on native adaptations and special opportunities. It is the work of 
the employer himself. It is an organizing and directing function, 
and in large industries is performed only in part by the owners. A 
portion of this work is committed to hired assistants. Strictly 
speaking, the entrepreneur, or employer, of a great establishment is 


COMPETITION 5ST 


not one man, but many, who work in a collective capacity, and who 
receive a reward that, taken in the aggregate, constitutes the “‘ wages 
of superintendence.” ‘To some members of this administrative body 
the returns come in the form of salaries, while to others they come 
partly in the form of dividends; but if we regard their work in its 
entirety, and consider their wages in a single sum, we must class it 
with entrepreneur’s profits rather than with ordinary wages. It is 
a different part of the product from the sum distributed among day 
laborers; and this fact separates the administrative group from 
the class considered in our present inquiry. Positions of the higher 
sort are usually gained either through the possession of capital or 
through relations to persons who possess it. Though clerkships of 
the lower grade demand no attainments which the children of work- 
men cannot gain, and though promotion to the higher grades is still 
open, the tendency of the time is to make the transition from the 
ranks of labor to those of administration more and more difficult. 
The true laboring class is merging its subdivisions, while it is separat- 
ing more sharply from the class whose interests, in test questions, 
place them on the side of capital. 


2. Competition and the Natural Harmony of Individual Interests* 


The general industry of the society never can exceed what the 
capital of the society can employ. As the number of workmen that 
can be kept in employment by any particular person must bear a 
certain proportion to his capital, so the number of those that can be 
continually employed by all the members of a great society must bear 
a certain proportion to the whole capital of that society and never 
can exceed that proportion. No regulation of commerce can increase 
the quantity of industry in any society beyond what its capital can 
maintain. It can only divert a part of it into a direction into which 
it might not otherwise have gone; and it is by no means certain that 
this artificial direction is likely to be more advantageous to the 
society than that into which it would have gone of its own accord. 

Every individual is continually exerting himself to find out the 
- most advantageous employment for whatever capital he can com- 
mand. it is his own advantage, indeed, and not that of the society, 

t Adapted from Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the 


Wealth of Nations, I (1904), 419, 421. (By kind permission of Messrs. Methuen 
& Co., Ltd.) 


552 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


which he has in view. But the study of his own advantage naturally, 
or rather necessarily, leads him to prefer that employment which is 
most advantageous to the society. 

As every individual, therefore, endeavors as much as he can 
both to employ his capital in the support of domestic industry and so 
to direct that industry that its product may be of the greatest value; 
every individual necessarily labors to render the annual revenue of 
the society as great as he can. He generally, indeed, neither intends 
to promote the public interest nor knows how much he is promoting it. 
By preferring the support of domestic to that of foreign industry, he 
intends only his own security; and by directing that industry in 
such a manner that its product may be of the greatest value, he 
intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, 
led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his 
intention. Nor is it always worse for the society that it was no 
part of it. By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that 
of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote 
it. I have never known much good done by those who affected to 
trade for the public good. It is an affectation, indeed, not very 
common among merchants, and very few words need be employed 
in dissuading them from it. 

What is the species of domestic industry which his capital can 
employ, and of which the product is likely to be of the greatest vatue, 
every individual, it is evident, can, in his local situation, judge much 
better than any statesman or lawgiver can dofor him. The statesman 
who should attempt to direct private people in what manner they 
ought to employ their capitals would not only load himself with a most 
unnecessary attention but assume an authority which could safely 
be trusted, not only to no single person, but to no council or senate 
whatever, and which would nowhere be so dangerous as in the hands 
_ of a man who had folly and presumption enough to fancy himself 
fit to exercise it. | 


3. Competition and Freedom!’ 


What, after all, is competition? Is it something that exists and 
acts of itself, like the cholera? No, competition is simply the absence 
of oppression. In reference to the matters that interest me, I prefer 


* Translated from Frédéric Bastiat, Giuores complétes, tome VI, “‘Harmonies 
économiques,” 9° édition, p. 350. (Paris, 1884.) 


COMPETITION 553 


to choose for myself and I do not want anyone else to choose for me 
against my will; that’s all. And if anyone undertakes to substitute 
his judgment for mine in matters that concern me I shall demand the 
privilege of substituting my wishes for his in matters which concern 
him. What guaranty is there that this arrangement will improve 
matters? It is evident that competition is liberty. To destroy 
liberty of action is to destroy the possibility and consequently the 
faculty of choosing, judging, comparing; it is to kill intelligence, to 
kill thought, to kill man himself. Whatever the point of departure, 
there is where modern reforms always end; in order to improve society 
it is necessary to annihilate the individual, upon the assumption that 
the individual is the source of all evil, and as if the individual was not 
likewise the source of all good. 


4. Money and Freedom’ 


Money not only makes the relation of individuals to the group a 
more independent one, but the content of the special forms of asso- 
ciations and the relations of the participants to these associations is 
subject to an entirely new process of differentiation. 

The medieval corporations included in themselves all the human 
interests, A guild of cloth-makers was not an association of indi- 
viduals which cultivated the interests of cloth-making exclusively. 
It was/a community in a vocational, personal, religious, political 
and in many other respects. And however technical the 
intérests that might be grouped together in such an association, they 
ad an immediate and lively interest for all members. Members 

were wholly bound up in the association. 

| In contrast to this form of organization the capitalistic system 
te made possible innumerable associations which either require from 
/ 








their members merely money contributions or are directed toward 
mere money interests. In the case of the business corporation, espe- 
cially, the basis of organization of members is exclusively an interest in 
the dividends, so exclusively that it is a matter of entire indifference 
to the individual what the society (enterprise) actually produces. 
The independence of the person of the concrete objects, in which 
he has a mere money interest, is reflected, likewise, in his independence, 


t Translated from Georg Simmel, Philosophie des Geldes, pp. 351-52. (Duncker 
und Humblot, 1900.) 


554 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in his personal relations, of the other individuals with whom he is 
connected by an exclusive money interest. This has produced one 
of the most effective cultural formations—one which makes it possible 
for individuals to take part in an association whose objective aim it 
will promote, use, and enjoy without this association bringing with 
it any further personal connection or imposing any further obligation. 
Money has brought it about that one individual may unite himself 
with others without being compelled to surrender any of his personal 
freedom or reserve. That is the fundamental and unspeakably 
significant difference between the medieval form of organization which 
made no difference between the association of men as men and the 
association of men as members of an organization. The medieval 
form or organization united equally in one circle the entire business, 
religious, political, and friendly interests of the individuals who 
composed it. 


II. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


1. Biological Competition 


The conception of competition has had a twofold origin: in the 
notions (a) of the struggle for existence and (6) of the struggle for 
livelihood. Naturally, then, the concept of competition has had a 
parallel development in biology and in economics. The growth of 
the notion in these two fields of thought, although parallel, is not 
independent. Indeed, the fruitful process of interaction between 
the differing formulations of the concept in biology and economics 
is a significant illustration of the cross-fertilization of the sciences. 
Although Malthus was a political economist, his principle of popula- 
tion is essentially biological rather than economic. He is concerned 
with the struggle for existence rather than for livelihood. Reacting 
against the theories of Condorcet and of Godwin concerning the 
natural equality, perfectibility, and inevitable progress of man, 
Malthus in 1798 stated the dismal law that population tends to 
increase in geometrical progression and subsistence in arithmetica 
progression. In the preface to the second edition of his Essay on 
the Principle of Population Malthus acknowledged his indebtedness to 
“Hume, Wallace, Dr. Adam Smith and Dr. Price.” Adam Smith no 
doubt anticipated and perhaps suggested to Malthus his thesis in such 
passages in the Wealth of Nations as, “Every species of animals 


COMPETITION 555 


naturally multiplies in proportion to the means of their subsistence,”’ 
‘The demand for men necessarily regulates the production of men.” 
These statements of the relation of population to food supply, how- 
ever, are incidental to Smith’s general theories of economics; the 
contribution of Malthus lay in taking this principle out of its limited 
context, giving it the character of scientific generalization, and apply- 
ing it to current theories and programs of social reform. 

The debt of biology to Malthus is acknowledged both by Darwin 
and by Wallace.. Fifteen months after Darwin had commenced his 
inquiry a chance reading of Malthus’ Essay on the Principle of 
Population gave him the clue to the explanation of the origin of species 
through the struggle for existence. During an attack of intermittent 
fever Wallace recalled Malthus’ theory which he had read twelve 
years before and in it found the solution of the problem of biological 
evolution. 

Although the phrase ‘‘the struggle for existence” was actually 
used by Malthus: Darwin, Wallace, and their followers first gave it 
a general application to all forms of life. Darwin in his The Origin 
of Species, published in 1859, analyzed with a wealth of detail the 
struggle for existence, the nature and forms of competition, natural 
selection, the survival of the fittest, the segregation and consequent 
specialization of species. 

Biological research in recent years has directed attention away 
from the theory of evolution to field study of plant and animal 
communities. Warming, Adams, Wheeler, and others have described, 
in their plant and animal ecologies, the processes of competition and 
segregation by which communities are formed. Clements in two 
studies, Plant Succession and Plant Indicators, has described in detail 
the life-histories of some of these communities. His analysis of the 
succession of plant communities within the same geographical area 
and of the relations of competitive co-operation of the different 
species of which these communities are composed might well serve 
as a model for similar studies in human ecology. 


2. Economic Competition 
Research upon competition in economics falls under two heads: 
(a) the natural history of competition, and (d) the history of theories 
of competition. . 


556 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


a) Competition on the economic level, i.e., of struggle for live- 
lihood, had its origins in the market place. Sir Henry Maine, on the 
basis of his study of village communities, states in effect that the 
beginnings of economic behavior are first to be seen in neutral meeting 
places of strangers and foes. 


In order to understand what a market originally was, you must try to 
picture to yourselves a territory occupied by village-communities, self-acting 
and as yet autonomous, each cultivating its arable land in the middle of 
its waste, and each, I fear I must add, at perpetual war with its neighbour. 
But at several points, points probably where the domains of two or three 
villages converged, there appear to have been spaces of what we should 
now call neutral ground. ‘These were the Markets. They were probably 
the only places at which the members of the different primitive groups 
met for any purpose except warfare, and the persons who came to them 
were doubtless at first persons especially empowered to exchange the pro- 
duce and manufactures of one little village-community for those of another. 
But, vesides the notion of neutrality, another idea was anciently associated 
with markets. This was the idea of sharp practice and hard bargaining. 

What is the real origin of the feeling that it is not creditable to drive a 
hard bargain with a near relative or friend? It can hardly be that there 
is any rule of morality to forbid it. The feeling seems to me to bear the 
traces of the old notion that men united in natural groups do not deal with 
one another on principles of trade. The only natural group in which men 
are now joined is the family; and the only bond of union resembling that of 
the family is that which men create for themselves by friendship. 

The general proposition which is the basis of Political Economy, made 
its first approach to truth under the only circumstances which admitted of 
men meeting at arm’s length, not as members of the same group, but as 
strangers. Gradually the assumption of the right to get the best price 
has penetrated into the interior of these groups, but it is never completely 
received so long as the bond of connection between man and man is assumed 
to be that of family or clan connection. The rule only triumphs when the 
primitive community is in ruins. What are the causes which have general- 
ized a Rule of the Market until it has been supposed to express an original 
and fundamental tendency of human nature, it is impossible to state fully, 
so multifarious have they been. Everything which has helped to convert 
a society into a collection of individuals from being an assemblage of families 
has helped to add to the truth of the assertion made of human nature by 
the Political Economists. 


*Henry S. Maine, Village-Communities in the East and West, pp. 192-97. 
(New York, 1889.) 


COMPETITION 557 


The extension of the relations of the market place to practically 
all aspects of life having to do with livelihood has been the outcome 
of the industrial revolution and the growth of Great Society. Stand- 
ardization of commodities, of prices, and of wages, the impersonal 
nature of business relations, the ‘‘cash-nexus” and the credit basis 
of all human relations have greatly extended the external competitive 
forms of interaction. Money, with its abstract standards of value, 
is not only a medium of exchange, but at the same time symbol par 
excellence of the economic nature of modern competitive society. 

The literature describing change from the familial communism, 
typical of primitive society, to the competitive economy of modern 
capitalistic society is indicated in the bibliography. 

b) The history of competition as a concept in political economy 
goes back to the Physiocrats. This French school of economists, 
laying stress upon the food supply as the basis and the measure of 
the wealth of the nation, demanded the abolition of restrictions upon 
agricultural production and commerce. The Physiocrats based their 
theories upon the natural rights of individuals to liberty. 


The miserable state of the nation seemed to demand a volte face. Taxes 
were many and indirect. Let them be single and direct. Liberty of 
enterprise was shackled. Let it be free. State-regulation was excessive. 
Laissez-faire! Their economic plea for liberty is buttressed by an appeal 
to Nature, greater than kings or ministers, and by an assertion of the 
natural, inherent rights of man to be unimpeded in his freedom except so 
far as he infringes upon that of others.* 


While the Physiocrats emphasized the beneficent effects of free- 
dom in industry to which the individual has a natural right, Adam 
Smith, in his book The Wealth of Nations, emphasized the advantages 
of competition. Tohim competition was a protection against monop- 
oly. ‘‘It [competition] can never hurt either the consumer or the 
producer; on the contrary it must tend to make the retailers both 
sell cheaper and buy dearer than if the whole trade was monopolized 
by one or two persons.’”? It was at the same time of benefit to 
both producer and consumer. ‘‘ Monopoly is a great enemy to good 
management which can never be universally established but in con- 


t Henry Higgs, The Physiocrats, p. 142. (London, 1897.) 
2 Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations (Cannan’s edition), I, 342. London, 1904. 


558 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


sequence of that free and universal competition which forces every- 
body to have recourse to it for the sake of self-defence.’’ 

| Before Darwin, competition had been conceived in terms of free- 
dom and of the natural harmony of interests. His use of the term 
introduced into competition the notion of struggle for existence and 
the survival of the fittest. ‘This new conception, in which competi- 
tion appears as a fundamental process in all life, has been a power- 
ful prop to the laissez faire policy and has led to its continuance 
regardless of the misery and destitution which, if it did not create, 
it certainly did not remedy. The works of Herbert Spencer, the 
greatest expounder of the doctrine of evolution, contain a powerful 
massing of evidence in favor of laissez faire as:a conclusion to be drawn 
from a scientific study of human behavior. “Nothing but the slow 
modifications of human nature by the discipline of social life,’ he said, 
“can produce permanently advantageous changes. A fundamental 
error pervading the thinking of nearly all parties, political and social, 
is that evils admit of immediate and radical remedies.” 

With the growth of large-scale production with the tendency to 
the formation of combinations and monopolies, as a result of freedom 
of competition, works began to appear on the subject of unrestricted 
competition. The expressions “unfair” and “cut-throat” competi- 
tion, which occur frequently in recent literature, suggest the new 
point of view. Another euphemism under which other and more 
far-reaching proposals for the limitation of competition and laissez 
faire have been proposed is “social justice.”” In the meantime the 
trend of legislation in England for a hundred years, as Mr. A. V. 
Dicey? has pointed out, has been, in spite of Herbert Spencer, away 
from the individualistic and in the direction of a collectivistic social 
order. This means more legislation, more control, and less individual 
liberty. 

The full meaning of this change in law and opinion can only be 
fully understood, however, when it is considered in connection with 
the growth of communication, economic organization, and cities, all 

*Toid. 1,148. 

Thomas Mackay, A Plea for Liberty. An argument against socialism and 


socialistic legislation, consisting of an introduction by Herbert Spencer and essays 
by various writers, p. 24. (New York, 1891.) 


3 Lectures on the Relation between Law and Opinion in England, during the 
Nineteenth Century. 2ded. (London, 1914). 


COMPETITION 559 


of which have so increased the mutual interdependence of all members 
of society as to render illusory and unreal the old freedoms and liberties 
which the system of laissez faire was supposed to guarantee. 


3. Competition and Human Ecology 


The ecological conception of society is that of a society created 
by competitive co-operation. Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations was 
a description of society in so far as it isa product of economic competi- 
tion. David Ricardo, in his Principles of Political Economy, defined 
the process of competition more abstractly and states its consequences 
with more ruthless precision and consistency. “His theory,” says 
Kolthamer in his introduction, “seems to be an everlasting justifi- 
cation of the status quo. As such at least it was used.” 

But Ricardo’s doctrines were both “a prop and a menace to the 
middle classes,’ and the errors which they canonized have been the 
presuppositions of most of the radical and revolutionary programs 
since that time. 

The socialists, adopting his theories of value and wages, interpreted 
Ricardo’s crude expressions to their own advantage. To alter the Ricard- 
ian conclusions, they said, alter the social conditions upon which they 
depend: to improve upon subsistence wage, deprive capital of what it 
steals from labour—the value which labour creates. The land-taxers 
similarly used the Ricardian theory of rent: rent is a surplus for the exist- 
ence of which no single individual is responsible—take it therefore for the 
benefit of all, whose presence creates it. 


The anarchistic, socialistic, and communistic doctrines, to which 
reference is made in the bibliography, are to be regarded as themselves 
sociological phenomena, without reference to their value as programs. 
They are based on ecological and economic conceptions of society in 
which competition is the fundamental fact and, from the point of 
view of these doctrines, the fundamental evil of society. What is — 
sociologically important in these doctrines is the wishes that they 
express. They exhibit among other things, at any rate, the character 
which the hopes and the wishes of men take in this vast, new, restless 
‘ world, the Great Society, in which men find themselves but in which 
they are not yet, and perhaps never will be, at home. 


The Principles of Taxation. Everyman’s Library. Preface by F. W. 
Kolthamer, p. xii. 


560 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 
, 


4. Competition and the “Inner Enemies’’: the Defectives, 
the Dependents, and the Delinquents 


Georg Simmel, referring, in his essay on “The Stranger,” to the 
poor and the criminal, bestowed upon them the suggestive title of 
“The Inner Enemies.”’ The criminal has at all times been regarded 
as a rebel against society, but only recently has the existence of the 
dependent and the defective been recognized as inimical to the social 
order." 

Modern society, so far as it is free, has been organized on the 
basis of competition. Since the status of the poor, the criminal, and 
the dependent, has been largely determined by their ability or will- 
ingness to compete, the literature upon defectiveness, dependency, 
and delinquency may be surveyed in its relation to the process of 
competition. For the purposes of this survey the dependent may be 
defined as one who is unable to compete; the defective as the person 
who is, if not unable, at least handicapped, in his efforts to compete. 
The criminal, on the other hand, is one who is perhaps unable, but 
at any rate refuses, to compete according to the rules which society 
lays down. 

Malthus’ Essay on the Principle of Population first called attention 
to the pathological effects of the struggle for existence in modern 
society and emphasized the necessity of control, not merely in the 
interest of the defeated and rejected members of society, but in the 
interest of society itself. Malthus sought a mitigation,if not a remedy, 
for the evils of overpopulation by what he called “moral restraint,” 
that is, “a restraint from marriage, from prudential motives, with a 
conduct strictly moral during the period of restraint.” The alterna- 
tives were war, famine, and pestilence. These latter have, in fact, 
been up to very recent times the effective means through which the 
problem of overpopulation has been solved. 

The Neo-Malthusian movement, under the leadership of Francis 
Place, Richard Carlile, and Robert Dale Owen in the decade of 
1820-30 and of Charles Bradlaugh and Annie Besant in the decade of 
1870-80, advocated the artificial restriction of the family. The 
differential decline in the birth-rate, that is, the greater decrease in 
the number of children in the well-to-do and educated classes as 


t Soziologie, p. 686. (Leipzig, 1908.) 


COMPETITION 561 


compared with the poor and uneducated masses, was disclosed through 
investigations by the Galton Eugenics Laboratory in England and 
characterized as a national menace. In the words of David Heron, 
a study of districts in London showed that “one-fourth of the married 
population was producing one-half of the next generation.” In 
United States less exhaustive investigation showed the same tendency 
at work and the alarm which the facts created found a popular express- 
ion in the term “‘race-sucide.” 

It is under these circumstances and as a result of investigations 
and agitations of the eugenists, that the poor, the defective, and the 
delinquent have come to be regarded as “inner enemies”’ in a sense 
that would scarcely have been understood a hundred years ago. 

Poverty and dependency in modern society have a totally differ- 
ent significance from that which they have had in societies in the past. 
The literature descriptive of primitive communities indicated that in 
the economic communism of a society based on kinship, famines were 
frequent but poverty was unknown. In ancient and medieval 
societies the dependency, where it was not professional, as in the 
case of the mendicant religious orders, was intimate and personal. 
In this respect it differed widely from the organized, official, and 
supervised philanthropy of our modern cities. 

With the abolition of serfdom, the break-up of the medieval 
guilds, and the inauguration of a period of individual freedom and 
relatively unrestricted competition (laissez faire) which ushered in 
the modern industrial order, the struggle for existence ceased to be 
communal, and became individual. The new order based on indi- 
vidual freedom, as contrasted with the old order based on control, 
has been described as a system in which every individual was per- 
mitted to “go to hell in his own individual way.” “The only 
purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member 
of a civilized community, against his will,” said Mill, “is to prevent 
harm to others. His own good either physical or moral is not a 
sufficient warranty.”’ Only when the individual became a criminal or 
apauper did the state or organized society attempt to control or 
assist him in the competitive struggle for existence. 

Since competitive industry has its beginnings in England, the 
study of the English poor laws is instructive. Under the influence 


t John Stuart Mill, On Liberty. (London, 1859.) 


562 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of Malthus and of the classical economists the early writers upon 
poverty regarded it as an inevitable and natural consequence of the 
operation of the “‘iron laws” of politicaleconomy. For example, when 
Harriet Martineau was forced to admit, by the evidence collected by 
the Factory Commissioners in 1833, that ‘the case of these wretched 
factory children seems desperate,’ she goes on to add “‘the only hope 
seems to be that the race will die out in two or three generations.” 

Karl Marx, accepting the Ricardian economics, emphasized the 
misery and destitution resulting from the competitive process, and 
demanded the abolition of competition and the substitution therefor 
of the absolute control of a socialistic state. 

Recent studies treat poverty and dependency as a disease and 
look to its prevention and cure. Trade unions, trade associations, 
and social insurance are movements designed to safeguard industry 
and the worker against the now generally recognized consequences 
of unlimited competition. The conceptions of industrial democracy 
and citizenship in industry have led to interesting and promising 
experiments. , 

In this connection, the efforts of employers to protect themselves 
as well as the community from accidents and occupational diseases 
may be properly considered. During and since the Great War 
efforts have been made on a grand scale to rehabilitate, re-educate, 
and restore to usefulness the war’s wounded soldiers. This interest 
in the former soldiers and the success of the efforts already made have 
led to an increased interest in all classes of the industrially handi- 
capped. A number of surveys have been made, in different parts of 
the country, of the crippled, and efforts are in progress to discover 
occupations and professions in which the deaf, the blind, and other- 
wise industrially handicapped can be employed and thus restored to 
usefulness and relative independence. 

The wide extension of the police power in recent times in the 
interest of public health, sanitation, and general public welfare repre- 
sents the effort of the government, in an individualistic society in 
which the older sanctions and securities no longer exist, to protect 
the individual as well as the community from the effects of unrestricted 
competition. 

The literature of criminology has sought an answer to the enigma 
of the criminal. The writings of the European criminologists run the 


COMPETITION 563 


gamut of explanation from Lombroso, who explained crime as an 
inborn tendency of the criminal, to Tarde, who defines the criminal 
as a purely social product. 

W. A. Bonger,? a socialist, has sought to show that criminality 
is a direct product of the modern economic system. Without accept- 
ing either the evidence or the conclusions of Bonger, it cannot be 
gainsaid that the modern offender must be studied from the stand- 
point of his failure to participate in a wholesome and normal way in 
our competitive, secondary society which rests upon the institution 
of private property and individual competition. 

The failure of the delinquent to conform to the social code may 
be studied from two standpoints: (a) that of the individual as an 
organization of original mental and temperamental traits, and (0) 
that of a person with a status and a rdéle in the social group. The 
book The Individual Delinquent, by William Healy, placed the study 
of the offender as an individual upon a sound scientific basis. That 
the person can and should be regarded as part and parcel of his 
social milieu has been strikingly illustrated by T. M. Osborne in 
two books, Within Prison Walls and Society and Prisons. The Judge 
Baker Foundation Case Studies, by William Healy and Augusta F. 
Bronner, The Three Problem Children, by the Joint-Committee on 
Methods of Preventing Delinquency, and The Unadjusted Girl, by 
William I. Thomas, all published within the year 1923-24, evince 
the present trend to a study of the delinquent as a person, that is, 
from the standpoint of his wishes and of his réles in the family, the 
play group, and the community. 

The fact seems to be that the problem of crime is essentially like 
that of the other major problems of our social order, and its solution 
involves three elements, namely: (a) the analysis of the aptitudes of 
the individual and the wishes of the person; (b) the analysis of the 
activities of our society with its specialization and division of labor; 
and (c) the accommodation or adjustment of the individual to the 
secia] and economic environment. ‘The older notions that dependency, 
deficiency,and delinquency were to be treated as due either to biological 
defects or to the inequalities in economic conditions arising out of 
competition are now being sharply challenged. Poverty, physical 
and mental detects, and crime are coming to be conceived in the larger 


1 Criminality and Economic Conditions. (Boston, 1916.) 








564 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


setting of human nature, social interaction, and social forces. Family 
case work, physical rehabilitation, vocational training, and the social 
treatment of delinquents are more and more concerned with problems 
of personality, that is, with attitudes, sentiments, and wishes which 
immediately determine behavior. 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. BIOLOGICAL COMPETITION 


(1) Crile, George W. Man an Adaptive Mechanism. New York, 1901. 

(2) Darwin, Charles. The Origin of Species. London, 1859. 

(3) Wallace, Alfred Russel. Studies Scienlic and Social. 2 vols. New 
York, rgoo. 

(4) Darwinism. An exposition of the theory of natural selection 

* with some of its applications. Chap. iv, ‘‘The Struggle for Existence,” 
pp. 14-40; chap. v, “Natural Selection by Variation and Survival of 
the Fittest,’ pp. 102-25.. 3d ed. London, roor. 

(5) Weismann, August. On Germinal Selection as a Source of Definite 
Variation. Translated from the German. Chicago, 1896. 

(6) Malthus, T. R. An Essay on the Principle cf Population. Or a view 
of its past and present effects on human happiness, with an inquiry 
into our prospects respecting the future removal or mitigation of the 
evils which it occasions. 2d ed. London, 1803. [rst ed., 1798.] 

(7) Carr-Saunders, A. M. Zhe Population Problem. A study in human 
evolution. Oxford, 1922. [Bibliography.] 

(8) Knapp, G. F. “Darwin und Socialwissenschaften,” Jahrbiicher fiir 
Nationalékonomie und Statistik, Erste Folge, XVITI (1872), 233-47. 

(9) Thomson, J. Arthur. Darwinism and Human Life. New York, 1918. 





If ECONOMIC COMPETITION 


(1) Wagner, Adolf. Grundlegung der politischen Okonomie. Pp. 794-828. 
[The modern private industria! system of free competition.} Pp. 71-137. 
[The industrial nature of men.] Leipzig, 1892-94. y 

(2) Effertz, Otto. Arbeit und Boden. System der politischen Okonomie. 
Vol. IT, chaps. xix, xx, xxl, xxlll, xxiv, pp. 237-320. berlinsaeo7; 

(3) Marshall, Alfred. Principles of Economics. Appendix A, ‘The 
Growth of Free Industry and Enterprise,” pp. 723-54. London, rgro. 

(4) Seligman, E. R. A. Principles of Economics. Chap. x, pp. 139-53. 
New York, 1905. 

(5) Schatz, Albert. L’Individualisme économique et social, ses origines, 

son évolution, ses formes contemporaines. Paris, 1907. 

(6) Cunningham, William. An Essay on Western Civilization in Its Eco- 

nomic Aspects. Medieval and modern times. Cambridge, 1913. 


II. FREEDOM AND LAISSEZ FAIRE 


(1) Simmel, Georg. Philosophie des Geldes. Chap. iv, “Die individuelle 
Freiheit,” pp. 279-364. Leipzig, rgo00. 

(2) Bagehot, Walter. Postulates of English Political Economics. With 
a preface by Alfred Marshall. New York and London, 1885. 


COMPETITION 565 


(3) Oncken, August. Die Maxime Laissez Faire et Laissez Passer, thr 
Ursprung, thr Werden. Bern, 1886. 
(4) Bastiat, Frédéric. Harmonies économiques. othed. Paris, 1884. 

(5) Cunningham, William. The Growth of English Industry and Commerce 
in Modern Times. Vol. III, “Laissez Faire.” 3 vols. 3d ed. Cam- 
bridge, 1903. 

(6) Ingram, John K. A History of Political Economy. Chap. v, ‘Third 
Modern Phase; System of Natural Liberty.” 2ded. New York, 1908. 

(7) Hall, W. P. ‘Certain Early Reactions against Laissez Faire,” Annual 
Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1913. I, 
127-38. Washington, rors. 

(8) Adams, Henry C. ‘Relation of the State to Industrial Action,” 
Publications of the American Economic Association, I (1887), 471-549. 


IV. THE MARKETS 


(1) Walker, Francis A. Political Economy. Chap. ii, pp. 97-102. 3d ed. 
New York, 1887. [Market defined.] 

(2) Grierson, P. J. H. The Silent Trade. A contribution to the early 
history of human intercourse. Edinburgh, 1903. [Bibliography.} 

(3) Maine, Henry S. Village Communities in the East and West. Lecture 
VI, ‘“‘The Early History of Price and Rent,” pp. 175-203. New York, 
1885. 

(4) Walford, Cornelius. Fairs, Past and Present. A chapter in the history 
of commerce. London, 1883. 

(5) Bourne,H.R.F. English Merchants. Memoirs in illustration of the 
progress of British commerce. New ed. London, 1808. 

(6) Webb, Sidney and Beatrice. Industrial Democracy. Part III, chap. ii, 
“The Higgling of the Market,” pp. 654-702. New ed. London, 
1902. 

(7) Bagehot, Walter. Lombard Street. A description of the money market. 
New York, 1876. 


V. COMPETITION AND INDUSTRIAL ORGANIZATION 


(x1) Gras, N. S. B. An Introduction to Economic History. “New Yerk, 
1922. [Describes the stages in the historical development of the 
world-wide economic community.| 

(2) Knowles, L. C. A. The Industrial and Commercial Revolutions in 
Great Britain during the Nineteenth Century. London, i921. 

(3) Tawney, Richard H. The Acquisitive Society. New York, 1920. 

(4) Crowell, John F. Trusts and Competition. Chicago, 1915. [Bibli- 
ography.| 

(5) Macrosty, Henry W. Trusts and the State. A sketch of competition. 
London, 1got. 

(6) Carter, George R. The Tendency toward Industrial Combination. 
A study of the modern movement toward industrial combination in 
some spheres of British industry; its forms and developments, their 
causes, and their determinant circumstances. London, 1913. 

(7) Levy, Hermann. Monopoly and Competition. A study in English 
industrial organization. London, rgrt. 


566 


(8) 


(9) 
(zo) 
(11) 


(12) 


(13) 


(14) 
(15) 


(16) 


(x) 
(2) 


(3) 


(4) 


(5) 
(6) 
(7) 
(8) 
(9) 


(10) 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Haney, Lewis H. Business Organization and Combination. An analy- 
sis of the evolution and nature of business organization in the United 
States and a tentative solution of the corporation and trust problems. 
New York, 1914. 
Van Hise, Charles R. Concentration and Control. A solution of the 
trust problem i in the United States. New York, 1912. 
Kohler, Josef. Der unlautere Wettibewerb. Darstellung des Wett- 
bewerbsrechts. Berlin und Leipzig, 1914. 
Nims, Harry D. The Law of Unfair Business Competition. Including 
chapters on trade secrets and confidential business relations; unfair 
interference with contracts; libel and slander of articles of merchandise, 
trade names and business credit and reputation. New York, 1909. 
Stevens, W. H.S. Unfair Competition. A study of certain practices 
with some reference to the trust problem in the United States of 
America. Chicago, 1917. 
Eddy, Arthur J. Zhe New Competition. An examination of the 
conditions underlying the radical change that is taking place in the 
commercial and industrial world; the change from a competitive to a 
co-operative basis. New York, 1912. 
Kropotkin, P. Mutual Aid. A factor of evolution. London, 1902. 
Willoughby, W. W. Social Justice. A critical essay. Chap. ix, 
“The Ethics of the Competitive Process,’ pp. 269-315. New York, 
1QOO. 
Rogers, Edward S. Good Will, Trade-Marks and Unfair Trading. 
Chicago, 1914. 

VI. SOCIALISM AND ANARCHISM 


Stirner, Max. (Kaspar Schmidt). The Ego and His Own. ‘Trans- 
lated from the German by S. T. Byington. New York, 1918. 
Godwin, William. An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Its 
Influence on General Virtue and Happiness. Book V, chap. xxiv. 
London, 1793. 

Proudhon, Pierre Joseph. What Is Property? An inquiry into the 
principle of right and of government. ‘Translated from the French by 
B. R. Tucker. New York, 189-? j 

Zenker, E. V. Anarchism. A criticism and history of the anarchist 
theory. Translated from the German. New York, 1897. [With 
bibliographical references. | 

Bailie, William. Josiah Warren, the First American Anarchist. A 
sociological study. Boston, 1906. 

Russell, B. A. W. Proposed Roads to Freedom. Socialism, anarchism, 
and syndicalism. New York, rg1g. 

Mackay, Thomas, editor. A Plea for Liberty. An argument against 
socialism and socialistic legislation. New York, 18or. 

Spencer, Herbert. “‘The Man versus the State,” Appendix to Social 
Statics. New York, 1897. 

Marx, Karl, and Engels, Frederick. Manifesto of the Communist 
Party. Authorized English translation edited and annotated by 
Frederick Engels. London, 1888. 

Stein, L. Der Socialismus und Communtsmus des heutigen Frankreichs. 
Ein Beitrag zur Zeitgeschichte. Leipzig, 1848. 


COMPETITION 567 


(11) Guyot, Edouard. Le Socialisme et Vévolution de l’ Angleterre contem- 
poraine (1880-1911). Paris, 1913. 

(12) Flint, Robert. Socialism. 2d ed. London, 10908. 

(13) Beer, M. A History of British Socialism. Vol. I, “From the Days 
of the Schoolmen to the Birth of Chartism.” Vol. II, ‘From Chartism 
to 1920.” London, 1919-21. 

(14) Levine, Louis. Syndicalism in France. 2d ed. New York, 1914. 

(r5) Brissenden, Paul F. The I.W.W. A study of American syndicalism. 
New York, 1919. [Bibliography.] 

(16) Brooks, John Graham. American Syndicalism. New York, 1913. 

(17) Labor’s Challenge to the Social Order. Democracy its own 
critic and educator. New York, 1920. 
[See bibliography, “‘Utopias,” p. 1008.] 

VII. COMPETITION AND ‘‘THE INNER ENEMIES” 
A. The Struggle for Existence and Its Social Consequences 


(1) Henderson, Charles R. Introduction to the Study of the Dependent, 
Defective, and Delinquent Classes, and of Their Social Treatment. 
2d ed. Boston, 1908. ; 

(2) Grotjahn, Alfred. Soziale Pathologie. Versuch einer Lehre von 


den sozialen Beziehungen der menschlichen Krankheiten als Grund- 
lage der sozialen Medizin und der sozialen Hygiene. Berlin. rq12 

(3) Lilienfeld, Paul de. La Pathologie sociale. Avec une préface de 
René Worms. Paris, 1896. 

(4) Elster, Alexander. Sozialbiologie. Bevélkerungswissenschaft und 
Gesellschaftshygiene. Berlin, 1923. 

(5) Thompson, Warren S. Population. A study in Malthusianism. 
New York, 1915. 

(6) Reuter, E. B.. Population Problems. Philadelphia, 1923. 


(7) Field, James A. ‘The Early Propagandist Movement in English 
Population Theory,” American Economic Association Bulletin, 
4th Ser., I (1911), 207-36. 

(8) Heron, David. On the Relation of Fertility in Man to Social Status. 
And on the changes in this relation that have taken place during 
the last fifty years. London, 1906. 

(9) Elderton, Ethel M. ‘Report on the English Birthrate.” Univer- 
sity of London, Francis Galton Laboratory for National Eugenics. 
Eugenics Laboratory Memoirs, XIX-XX. London, 1014. 

(10) D’Ambrosio, Manlio A. Passivita Economica. Primi principi 
di una teoria sociologica della popolazione economicamente passiva. 
Napoli, 1909. 

(11) Ellwood, Charles A. Sociology and Modern Social Problems. Rev. 
ed. New York, 1913. 


B. Poverty, Labor, and the Proletariat 


(1) Woods, Robert A., Elsing, W. T., and others. The Poor in Great 
Cities. Their problems and what is being done to solve them. 
New York, 1895. 

(2) Rowntree, B. Seebohm. Poverty, a Study of Town Life. London, 
IQOI. 





568 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(3) Devine, Edward T. Misery and Its Causes. New York, 1909. 

(4) Marx, Karl. Capital. A critical analysis of capitalist production. 
Chap. xv, ‘‘Machinery and Modern Industry.” Translated from 
the third German edition by Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, 
and edited by Frederick Engels. London, 1908. 

(5s) Hobson, John A. Problems of Poverty. An inquiry into the 
industrial condition of the poor. London, r8or. 

(6) Kydd, Samuel [Alfred, pseud.] The History of the Factory Move- 
ment. From the year 1802 to the enactment of the ten hours’ 
bill in 1847. 2 vols. London, 1857. 

(7) Rowntree, B. S., and Lasker, Bruno. Unemployment, a Social 
Study. London, tort. 

(8) Beveridge, William Henry. Unemployment. A problem of indus- 
try.nigcdedse Loncdonero 1: 

(9) Parmelee, Maurice. Poverty and Social Progress. New York, 
1916. 

(10) Gillin, John L. Poverty and Dependency. ‘Their relief and pre- 
vention. New York, 1921. 

(11) Sombart, Werner. Das Proletariat; Bilder und Studien. Frankfurt 
am Main, 1906. 

(12) Riis, Jacob A. How the Other Half Lives. Studies among the 
tenements of New York. New York, 1890. 

(13) Nevinson, Margaret W. Workhouse Characters and Other Sketches 
of the Life of the Poor. London, 1918. 

(14) Sims, George R. How the Poor Live; and Horrible London. 
London, 1898. 


C. The Industrially Handicapped 


(1) Best, Harry. The Deaf. Their position in society and the pro- 
vision for their education in the United States. New York, 1914. 

(2) The Blind. Their condition and the work being done 
for them in the United States. New York, ro1o. 

(3) United States Bureau of the Census. The Blind and the Deaf, 
Ig00. Washington, 1906. a 

(4) Deaf-Mutes in the United States. Analysis of the census 

of 1910 with summary of state laws relating to the deaf as of 

January 1, 1918. Washington, ror18. 

The Blind in the United States rgt0. Washington, 1917. 

(6) Niceforo, Alfredo. Les Classes pauvres. Recherches anthropolo- 
giques et sociales. Paris, 1905. 

(7) Goddard, Henry H. Feeble-mindedness, Its Causes and Conse- 
quences. Chap. i, “Social Problems,” pp. 1-20. New York, 1914. 

(8) Popenoe, Paul B., and Johnson, Roswell H. Applied Eugenics. 
Chap. ix, “‘The Dysgenic Classes,” pp. 176-83. New York, 1918. 

(9) Pintner, Rudolf, and Toops, Herbert A. “Mental Test of Un- 
employed Men,” Journal of Applied Psychology, I (1917), 325-41; 
II (1918), 15-25. 

(10) Oliver, Thomas. Dangerous Trades. The historical, social, and 
legal aspects of industrial occupations affecting health, by a number 
of experts. New York, 1902. 











COMPETITION 569 


(11) Jarrett, Mary C. ‘‘The Psychopathic Employee: a Problem of 
Industry,” Bulletin of the Massachusetts Commission on Mental 
Diseases, I (1917-18), Nos. 3-4, 223-38. Boston, 1918. 

(12) Thompson, W. Gilman. The Occupational Diseases. Their 
causation, treatment, and prevention. New York, 1914. 

(13) Kober, George M., and Hanson, William C., editors. Diseases of 
Occupation and Vocational Hygiene. Philadelphia, 1916. 

(14) Great Britain Ministry of Munitions. Health of Munition Workers 
Committee. Hours, fatigue, and health in British munition 
factories. Reprints of the memoranda of the British Health of 
Munition Workers Committee, April, 1917. Washington, 1917. 

(15) Great Britain Home Department. Report of the Committee on 
Compensation for Industrial Diseases. London, 1907. 

(16) McMurtrie, Douglas C. The Disabled Soldier. With an introduc- 
tion by Jeremiah Milbank. New York, roto. 

(17) Rubinow, I. M. “A Statistical Consideration of the Number of 
Men Crippled in War and Disabled in Industry,’ Publication of 
Red Cross Institute for Crippled and Disabled Men. Series I, No. 4, 
Feb. 14, 1918. 

(18) Love, Albert G., and Davenport, C. B. Defects Found in Drafted 
Men. Statistical information compiled from the draft records 
showing the physical condition of the men registered and examined 
in pursuance of the requirements of the selective-service act. 
War Department, U.S. Surgeon General’s Office, Washington, 1920. 


D. Alcoholism and Drug Addiction 


(1) Partridge, George E. Studies in the Psychology of Intemperance. 
New York, 1912. 

(2) Kelynack, T. N. The Drink Problem of Today in Its Medico- 
sociological Aspects. New York, 1916. 

(3) Kerr, Norman S. Jnebriety or Narcomania. Its etiology, path- 
ology, treatment, and jurisprudence. 3d ed. London, 1894. 

(4) Elderton, Ethel M. ‘A First Study of the Influence of Parental 
Alcoholism on the Physique and Ability of the Offspring.” Eugen- 
ics Laboratory Memoirs, University of London, Francis Galton 
Laboratory for National Eugenics. London, rg10. 

(5) Koren, John. Economic Aspects of the ‘Liquor Problem. An 
investigation made for the Committee of Fifty under the direction 
of Henry W. Farnam. Boston, 1899. 

(6) Towns, Charles B. Habits that Handicap. The menace of opium, 
alcohol, and tobacco, and the remedy. New York, 1916. 

(7) Wilbert, Martin I. ‘The Number and Kind of Drug Addicts,” 
U.S. Public Health Reprint, No. 294. Washington, 1915. 

(8) Rowntree, B. Seebohm. Land and Labour: Lessons from Belgium. 
Chap. xxvi, ‘The Drink Problem.” London, sg10. 

(9) McIver, J., and Price, G. F. “Drug Addiction,” Journal of the 
American Medical Association, UXVI (1915), 476-80. [A study 
of 147 cases.] 

(10) Stanley, L. L. “Drug Addictions,” Journal of the American 
Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology, X (1919), 62-79. 
[Four case studies. | 


570 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


E. Crime and Competition 


Num PW HD He 


oo ~ 


(1) Parmelee, Maurice. Criminology. Chap. vi, pp. 67-91. New 
York, 1918. 

(2) Bonger, William A. Criminality and Economic Conditions. Trans- 
lated from the French by H. P. Horton, with editorial preface by 
Edward Lindsey and with an introduction by Frank H. Norcross. 
Boston, 1916. 

(3) Tarde, G. ‘“‘La Criminalité et les phénoménes économiques,” 
Archives d’anthropologie criminelle, XVI (901), 565-75. iM 

(4) Kan, J. Van. Les Causes économiques de la criminalité. Etude 
historique et critique d’étiologie criminelle. Lvon, 1903. 

(5) Fornasaridi Verce, E. La Criminalita ele vicende economiche d’Italia, 
dal 1873 al 1890, con prefazione di Ces. Lombroso. Torino, 1894. 

(6) Devon, J. The Criminal and the Community. London and New 
York, 1912. 

(7) Breckinridge, Sophonisba, and Abbott, Edith. The Delinquent 
Child and the Home. Chap. iv, ‘‘The Poor Child: The Problem 
of Poverty,” pp. 70-89. New York, 10912. 

(8) Flexner, Abraham. Prostitution in Europe. New York, 1914. 

(9) Kneeland, George J. Commercialized Prostitution in New York 
City. With a supplementary chapter by Katharine Bement Davis. 
Rev. ed. New York, 1917. 

(10) Woolston, Howard B. Prostitution in the United States. New 
York, 1923. 

(11) Donovan, Frances. The Woman Who Waits. Boston, 1920. 

(12) Fernald, Mabel R., Hayes, Mary H. S., and Dawley, Almena. 
A Study of Women Delinquents in New York State. With statistical 
chapter by Beardsley Ruml; preface by Katharine Bement 
Davis. Chap. xi, ‘Occupational History and Economic Eff- 
ciency,” pp. 304-79. New York, 1920. 

(13) Miner, Maude. The Slavery of Prostitution. A plea for emanci- 
pation. Chap. ili, “Social Factors Leading to Prostitution,” 
pp. 53-88. New York, 1916. ; 

(14) Ryckére, Raymond de. La Servante criminelle. Etude de crimi- 
nologie professionelle. Paris, 1908. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. The Struggle for Existence and the Survival of the Fittest 

. Economic Competition and the Economic Equilibrium 

. “Unfair” Competition and Social Control 

. Competition versus Sentiment 

. The History of the Market, the Exchange, the Board of Trade 

. The Natural History of the Laissez-Faire Theory in Economics and 


Politics 


. Competition, Money, and Freedom 
. Biological Competition and the Geographical Distribution of Races and 


Nationalities 


. Competition and Segregation in Industry and in Society 


Io. 


1 ist ie 
12. 
ee 
14. 
15. 
. Unemployment and Poverty in.a Competitive, Secondary Society 
ty 
18. 


TO. 
20. 


2I. 


22. 


COMPETITION 571 


The Distribution and Segregation of Economic and Occupational 
Classes in the Community 

Family Budgets and Changes in the Standard of Living 

The Neo-Malthusian Movement and Race Suicide 

The Economic Order of Competition and “the Inner Enemies’”’ 
Physical and Mental Deficiency and the Program of Eugenics 

The History of the English Poor Law 


Modern Economy and the Psychology of Intemperance 

Modern Industry, the Physically Handicapped and Programs of 
Rehabilitation 

Crime in Relation to Economic Conditions 

Methods of Social Amelioration: Philanthropy, Welfare Work in 
Industry, Social Insurance, etc. 

Experiments in the Limitation of Competition: Collective Bargaining, 
Trade Associations, Trade Boards, etc. 

The Process of Competition in Relation to the Theories of Socialism 
and Anarchism 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. In what fields did the popular conceptions of competition originate ? 
. In what way does competition as a form of interaction differ from 


conflict, accommodation, and assimilation ? 


. What do you understand to be the difference between struggle, con- 


flict, competition, and rivalry ? 


4. What are the different forms of the struggle for existence ? 


Un 


. In what different meanings do you understand Darwin to use the term 


“the struggle for existence”? How many of these are applicable to 
human society ? 


. What do you understand Darwin to mean when he says: ‘‘The struct- 


ure of every organic being is related, in the most essential yet often 
hidden manner, to that of all the other organic beings with which it 
comes into competition for food or residence, or from which it has to 
escape, or on which it preys”? Does his principle, in your opinion, 
also apply to the structure of social groups? 


. What examples of competition occur to you in human or social rela- 


tions? In what respects are they (qa) alike, (6) different, from com- 
petition in plant communities ? 


. To what extent is biological competition present in modern human 


society ? 


. Does competition always lead to increased specialization and higher 


organization ? 


572 


Io. 


Il. 


cee 
13. 
fips 
Tis 


16. 


rie 


18. 


IQ. 


20. 


ZL. 


ag) 
22, 
24. 


25) 
26. 


27. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What evidences are there in society of the effect of competition upon 
specialization and organization ? 

What do you understand Crile to mean by the sentence: ‘‘In every 
case the fate of each creature seems to have been staked upon one 
mechanism”? What is this mechanism with man ? 

Do you think that Crile has given an adequate explanation of the evolu- 
tion of mind ? 

Is there a difference in the character of the struggle for existence of 
animals and of man? 

What is the difference in competition within a community based on 
likenesses and one based on diversities ? 

Compare the ecological concept ‘‘reaction” with the sociological 
conception ‘‘control.” 

What do you understand by the expression ‘‘the reaction of a commu- 
nity is usually more than the sum of the reaction of the component 
species and individuals” ? Explain. . 

How far can the terms migration, ecesis, and competition, as used by 
Clements in his analysis of the invasion of one plant community by 
another, be used in the analysis of the process by which immigrants 
“invade” this country, i.e., migrate, settle, and are assimilated, ‘ Ameri- 
canized”’ ? 

What are the social forces involved in (a) internal, (6) foreign, migra- 
tions ? 

What do you understand by the term segregation? ‘To what extent 
are the social forces making for segregation (a) economic, (6) senti- 
mental? Illustrate. 

In what ways has immigration to the United States resulted in segre- 
gation ? 

Does the segregation of the immigrant in our American cities make for 
or against (@) competition, (5) conflict, (c) social control, (d) accom- 
modation, and (e) assimilation ? 

What are the factors producing internal migration in the United States ? 
In what sense is the drift to the cities a result of competition ? 

What is Ripley’s conclusion in regard to urban selection and the ethnic 
composition of cities ? 

What are the outstanding results of demographic segregation and social 
selection in the United States ? 

What, in your judgment, are the chief characteristics of inter-racial 
competition ? 

To what extent do you agree with Walker’s analysis of the social forces 
involved in race suicide in the United States ? 


28. 


29. 


22. 
31. 
32. 
33> 


34. 


35: 


36. 
37> 


38. 


39. 
40. 


AT. 
A2. 
43. 


44. 


45. 
46. 


47. 
. How does money make for freedom? Does it make for or against 


49. 


- 50. 


COMPETITION o/s 


In what specific ways is competition now a factor in race suicide ? 
What will be the future effects of inter-racial competition upon the 
ethnic stock of the American people ? 

Compare the essential features of village economy, town economy, and 
metropolitan economy. 

What is the relation of the hinterland to the metropolis ? 

What are the social consequences of metropolitan growth? 

“There is a sense in which much of the orthodox system of political 
economy is eternally true.” Explain. 

To what extent and in what sense is economic competition unconscious ? 
What differences other than innate mental ability enter into competition 
between different social groups and different persons ? 

Who are your competitors ? 

Of the existence (as identified persons) of what proportion of these 
competitors are you unconscious ? 

What is meant by competitive co-operation? Illustrate. (See pp. 
508, 558.) 

What do you understand by the term ‘‘economic equilibrium” ? 

Is “economic equilibrium” identical with “social solidarity” ? What 
is the relation, if any, between the two concepts? 

To what extent does competition make for a natural harmony of indi- 
vidual interests ? 

What did Adam Smith mean by “‘an invisible hand” ? 

“Civilization is the resultant not of conscious co-operation but of the 
unconscious competition of individuals.” Do you agree or disagree 
with this statement ? 

“By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that of the 
society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it.” 
What is the argument for and against this position ? 

Why has the laissez-faire theory in economics been largely abandoned ? 
What do you understand by the term “freedom”? How far may 
freedom be identified with freedom of competition ? 

Do you accept the conception of Bastiat that “competition is liberty”’ ? 


co-operation? Are co-operation and competition antagonistic terms ? 
What do you understand by the statement that anarchism, socialism, 
and communism are based upon the ecological conceptions of society ? 
From what point of view may the dependent, the delinquent, and the 
defective be regarded as “inner enemies” ? 


CHAPTER IX 


CONFLICT 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. The Concept of Conflict 


eoar he distinction 1 between|competition and conflict has already been 
indicated. Both fa fare forms of interaction, but competition is a 
struggle between individuals, or groups of individuals, who are not 
necessarily in contact and communication; while conflict is a contest © 
in which contact is an indispensable conditions 5) (Competition, \unquali- 
fied and uncontrolled as with plants, and in the great impersonal 
life-struggle of man with his kind and with all animate naturef is 
unconscious. Conflict is always conscious, indeed, it evokes the 
deepest emotions and strongest passions and enlists the greatest con- 
centration of attention and of effort. Both competition and conflict 
are forms of struggle. Competition, however, is continuous and 
impersonal, conflict is intermittent and personal] 

v ‘ Competition is a struggle for position in an economic order.,4'The 
distribution of populations in the world- -economy, the industrial 
organization in the national economy, and the vocation of the indi- 
vidual in the division of labor-yall these‘are determined, i in the long 
run, by competition. )/ The status of the individual, or a group of 
individuals, in the social order, on-the other hand; is determined by 
rivalry, by war, or by subtler forms of conflict. at 

“Two is company, three is a crowd”’ suggests how easily the social 
equilibrium is disturbed by the entrance of a new factor in a social 
situation. The delicate nuances and grades of attention given to 
different individuals moving in the same social circle are the super- 
ficial reflections of rivalries and conflicts beneath the smooth and 
decorous surfaces of polite seciety. . 

In general, we may say that competition determines the position 
of the individual.in the community; conflict fixes his-place-in-society. 

‘Location, position, ecological a ae are the char- 


Lo 
57 


CONFLICT 575 











community. Status, subordination and super- 
ese are the distinctive marks of a sclety. | 


interest. Mars ha F . a. held a high rank in the hierarchy of the 





gods. 1 wherever struggle has taken the form of con- 
flict, whether of races, of nations, or of individual men, it has invari- 
ably captured and held the attention of spectators. And these 
spectators, when did not take part in the fight, always took 


sides. It was 1 his cc nflict of the non-combatants that made public 
opinion, and publi ¢ opifiion has always played an important réle in the 


~ 


struggles of men. It is this that has raised war from a mere play of ., 


physical forces and given it the tragic significance of a moral struggle, 
a conflict of good and evil. 

_The result is that war tends to assume the character of litigation, 
Bis Seandhiencone oft of the scrape is ; accepted a: as a i judgment t m 
the case. 

The duello, as distinguished from the wager of battle, although it 
never had the character of a judicial procedure, developed a strict 
code which made it morally binding upon the individual to seek 
redress for wrongs, and determined in advance the methods of pro- 
cedure by which such redress could and should be obtained. The 
penalty was a loss of status in the particular group of which the 
individual was a member. 












3, and the conviction that the invisible powers were on the 
uth and justice that gave the trial by ordeal and the trial 
2 Ml sienificance that neither the duello nor any other form of 
geance ever had. 
eresting in this connection, also, that political and judicial 
ocedure are conducted on a conflict pattern. An election 
t in which we count noses when we do not break heads. 
juty 4 is a contest in which the parties are represented by 
, as in the judicial duels of an earlier time. 
eral, they one may say competition becomes conscious and 
conflict, In the process of transition competitors are 
ed into rivals and enemies. In its higher forms, however, 
ecomes impersonal—a struggle to establish and maintain 


1e presence of the public, the ceremonial character of the 


576 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCI 





rules of Justice and a moral order. In this case oe ick not 






are the struggles of political parties anid religious sects. H 
issues are not determined by the force and weight of the cont 
immediately involved, but to a greater or less extent, by th 
and weight of public opinion of the community, and event ally by 
the judgment of mankind. — 


2. Classification of the Materials 


The materials on conflict have been organized in the readings 
under four heads: (a) conflict as conscious competition; (6) war, 
instincts, and ideals; (c) rivalry, cultural cone and social organi- 
zation; and (d) race conflicts. 

a) Conscious ompeiition Seen ae ae in the individual 
arises in the contacts and conflicts of the person with other persons. 
It manifests itself variously in pride and in humility, vanity and self- 
respect, modesty and arrogance, pity and disdain, as well as in race 
prejudice, chauvinism, class and caste distinctions, and in every other 
social device by which the social distances are maintained. 

'It is in these various responses called forth by social contacts 
and intercourse that the personality of the individual is developed 
and his status defined. It is in the effort to maintain this status or 
improve it; to defend this personality, enlarge its possessions, extend 
its privileges, and maintain its prestige that conflicts arise.’ This 
applies to all conflicts, whether they are personal and party squabbles, 
sectarian differences, or national and patriotic wars, for the personality 
of the individual is invariably so bound up with the interests and 
order of his group and clan, that, in a struggle, he makes the group 
cause his own. 

Much has been said and written about the economic causes of 
war, but whatever may be the ultimate sources of our sentiments, 
it is probably true that men. never go to war for economic Teasons 
merely. It is because wealth and~ possessions are bound » up with | 
prestige, honor, and position in the world, that men and nations fight 
about them. 

b) War, instincts, and ideals~War_is_ the cubentiags and{ the 
ba example of ponte (In war, . where hostility prevails over 





ee ae 


CONFLICT 577 










erest of sentiment or utility which would otherwise unite 


the \ding parties or groups, the motives and the réle of conflict 
in cia life present themselves in their clearest outline. ‘There is, 
moreover, a pre ctical reason for fixing upon war as an illustration 


of conflict. The tremendous interest in all times manifested in war, 
the ng energies and resources released in peoples organized for 
ve 

endured for the glory, the honor, or the security of the fatherland 
have made wars memorable. Of no other of the larger aspects of 
collective life have we such adequate records. 

The problem of the relation of war to human instincts, on the 
one hand, and to human ideals, on the other, is the issue about which 
most recent observation and discussion has centered,¢It seems idle 
to assert that hostility has no roots in man’s original nature. The 
concrete materials given in this chapter show beyond question how 
readily the wishes and the instincts of the person may take the form 
of the fighting pattern. y On the other hand, the notion that tradition, 
culture, and collective representations have no part in determining 
the attitudes of nations toward war seems equally untenable. The 
significant sociological inquiry is to determine just in what ways a 
conjunction of the tendencies in original nature, the forces of tradition 
and culture, and the exigencies of the situation determine the organi- 
zation of the fighting pattern. We have historical examples of war- 
like peoples becoming peaceful and of pacific nations militaristic. An 
understanding of the mechanism of the process is a first condition to 
any exercise of control. 

c) Rivalry, cultural conflicts, and social organization.—yRivalry is 
a sublimated form of conflict where the struggle of individuals is 
subordinated to the welfare of the group. In the rivalry of groups, 
likewise, conflict or competition is subordinated to the interests of an 


inclusive group. Rivalry may then be defined as conflict controlled 


by er Se interest. A survey of the phenomena oé rivalry 
brings out its réte as an organizing force in group life. 


In the study of conflict groups it is not always easy to apply with 
certainty the distinction between rivalry and conflict made here. 
>The sect is a conflict group.¢ In its struggle for survival and success 
with other groups, its aim is the highest welfare of the inclusive 


aggression or defense, the colossal losses and sacrifices 


-» 


578 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


society. Actually, however, sectarian warfare may be against the 
moral, social, and religious interests of the community. ,The denomi- 
nation, which is an accommodation group, strives through rivalry 
and competition, not only to promote the welfare of the inclusive 
society, but also of its other component groups. 

- In cultural and political conflict the function of conflict in social 
life becomes understandable and reasonable. The réle of mental 
conflicts in the life of the individual is for the purpose of making 
adjustments to changing situations and of assimilating new expe- 
riences. It is through this process of conflict of divergent impulses 
to act that the individual arrives at decisions—as we say, “makes up 
his mind.” Only where there is conflict is behavior conscious and 
self-conscious; only here are the conditions for rational conduct. 

d) Race conflicts —Nowhere do social contacts so readily provoke 
conflicts as in the relations between the races, particularly when 
racial ‘differences are re-enforced, not merely by differences of culture, 
but of color. Nowhere, it might be added, are the responses to social 
contact. so obvious and, at the same time, so difficult to analyze and 
define. \ ae) : 7 

Race prejudice, as we call the sentiments that support the racial 
taboos, is not, in America at least, an*obscure phenomenon. But 
no one has yet succeeded in making it wholly intelligible. Wt is 
evident that there is in race prejudice, as distinguished from class and 
caste prejudice, an instinctive factor based on the fear of the unfamil- 
iar and the uncomprehended. Color, or any other racial mark that 
emphasizes physical differences, becomes the symbol of moral diver- 
gences which perhaps do not exist. Weat once fear and are fascinated 
by the stranger, and an individual of a different race always seems 
more of a stranger to us than one of our own. This naive prejudice, 
unless it is re-enforced by other factors, is easily modified, as the 
intimate relations of the Negroes and white man in slavery show. 

4 A more positive factor in racial antagonism is the conflict of 
cultures: the unwillingness of one race to enter into personal compe- 
tition with a race of a different or inferior culture. This turns out, 
in the long run, to be the unwillingness of a people or a class occupying 
a superior status to compete on equal terms with a people of a lower ~ 
status. Race conflicts like wars are fundamentally the struggles of 
racial groups for status. In this sense and from this pou of view 


CONFLICT 579 


the struggles of the European nationalities and the so-called “subject 
peoples” for independence and self-determination are actually 
struggles for status in the family of nations. 

Under the conditions of this struggle, racial or national con- 
sciousness as it manifests itself, for example, in Irish nationalism, 
Jewish Zionism, and Negro race consciousness, is the natural and 
obvious response to a conflict situation. The nationalistic move- 
ments in Europe, in India, and in Egypt are, like war, rivalry and 
more personal forms of conflict, mainly struggles for recognition— 
that is, honor, glory, and prestige. ‘ 


? 


.. IL MATERIALS 


A. CONFLICT AS CONSCIOUS COMPETITION 


1. The Natural History of Conflict’ 


All classes of society, and the two sexes to about the same degree, 
are deeply interested in all forms of contest involving skill and 
chance, especially where the danger or risk is great. Everybody will 
stop to watch a street fight, and the same persons. would show an 
equal interest in a prize fight or a bull fight, if certain scruples did 
not stand in the way of their looking on. Our socially developed 
sympathy and pity may recoil from witnessing a scene where physical 
hurt is the object of the game, but the depth of our interest in the 
conflict type of activity is attested by the fascination which such a 
game as football has for the masses, where our instinctive emotional 
reaction to a conflict situation is gratified to an intense degree by a 
scene of the conflict pattern. © 

If we examine, in fact, our pleasures and pains, our moments of 
elation and depression, we find that they go back for the most part 
to instincts developed in the struggle for food and rivalry for mates. 
The structure of the organism has been built up gradually through 
the survival of the most efficient structures. Corresponding with a 
structure mechanically adapted to successful movements, there is 
developed on the psychic side an interest in the conflict situation as 
complete and perfect as is the structure itself. The emotional states 
are, indeed, organic preparations for action, corresponding broadly with 


t Adapted from William I. Thomas, ‘‘The Gaming Instinct,” in the American 
Journal of Sociology, VI (1900-1901), 750-63. 


580 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


a tendency to advance or retreat; and a connection has even been 
made out between pleasurable states and the extensor muscles, and 
painful states and the flexor muscles. We can have no adequate 
idea of the time consumed and the experiments made in nature be- 
fore the development of these types of structure and interest of the 
conflict pattern, but we know from the geological records that the 
time and experiments were long and many, and the competition so 
sharp that finally, not in man alone, but in all the higher classes of 
animals, body and mind, structure and interest, were working perfectly 
in motor actions of the violent type involved in a life of conflict, com- 
petition, and rivalry. There could not have been developed an 
organism depending on offensive and defensive movements for food 
and life without an interest in what we call a dangerous or precarious 
situation. A type without this interest would have been defective, 
and would have dropped out in the course of development. 

The fact that our interests and enthusiasms are called out in 
situations of the conflict type is shown by a glance at the situations 
which arouse them most readily. War is simply an organized form 
of fight, and as such is most attractive, or, to say the least, arouses 
the interests powerfully. With the accumulation of property and the 
growth of sensibility and intelligence it becomes apparent that war 
is a wasteful and unsafe process, and public and personal interests lead 
us to avoid it as much as possible. But, however genuinely war 
may be deprecated, it is certainly an exciting game. The Rough 
Riders in this country recently, and more recently the young men of 
the aristocracy of England, went to war from motives of patriotism, 
no doubt, but there are unmistakable evidences that they also 
regarded it as the greatest sport they were likely to have a chance 
at in a lifetime. And there is evidence in plenty that the emotional 
attitude of women toward war is no less intense. Grey relates that 
half a dozen old women among the Australians will drive the men 
to war with a neighboring tribe over a fancied injury. The Jewish 
maidens went out with music and dancing and sang that Saul had 
slain his thousands, but David his ten thousands. The young women 
of Havana are alleged, during the late Spanish War, to have sent 
pieces of their wardrobe to young men of their acquaintance who 
hesitated to join the rebellion, with the suggestion that they wear 
these until they went to the war. 


CONFLICT | 581 


The feud is another mode of reaction of the violent, instinctive, 
and attractive type. The feud was originally of defensive value to 
the individual and to the tribe, since in the absence of criminal law 
the feeling oe would follow was a deterrent from acts 
of aggression. YBut it was an expensive method of obtaining order in 
early society, since response to stimulus reinstated the stimulus, and 
every death called for another death; so, finally, after many experi- 
ments and devices, the state has forbidden the individual to take 
justice into his own hands. In out-of-the-way places, however, 
where governmental control is weak, men still settle their disputes 
personally, and one who is familiar with the course of a feud cannot 
avoid the conclusion that this practice is kept up, not because there 
is no law to resort to, but because the older mode is more immediate 
and fascinating. I mean simply that the emotional possibilities and 
actual emotional reactions in the feud are far more powerful than in 
due legal process. 

Gladiatorial shows, bear baiting, bull fighting, dog and cock 
fighting, and prize fighting afford an opportunity to gratify the inter- 
est in conflict. ‘The spectator has by suggestion emotional reactions 
analogous to those of the combatant, but without personal danger; 
and vicarious contests between slaves, captives, and animals, whose 
blood and life are cheap, are a pleasure which the race allowed itself 
until a higher stage of morality was reached. Pugilism is the modi- 
fication of the fight in a slightly different way. The combatants are 
members of society, not slaves or captives, but the conflict is so quali- 
fied as to safeguard their lives, though injury is possible and is 
actually planned. The intention to do hurt is the point to which 
society and the law object. But the prize fight is a fight as far as 
it goes, and the difficulties which men will surmount to “pull off” 
and to witness these contests are sufficient proof of their fascination. 
A football game is also a fight, with the additional qualification that 
no injury is planned, and with an advantage over the prize fight in 
the fact that it is not a single-handed conflict, but an organized 
mélée—a battle where the action is more massive and complex and 
the strategic opportunities are multiplied. It is a fact of interest 
in this connection that, unless appearances are deceptive, altogether 
the larger number of visitors to a university during the year are 
visitors to the football field. It is the only phase of university life 


682 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


which appeals directly and powerfully to the instincts, and it is 
consequently the only phase of university life which appeals equally 
to the man of culture, the artist, the business man, the man about 
town, the all-round sport, and, in fact, to all the world. 

The instincts of man are congenital; the arts and industries are 
acquired by the race and must be learned by the individual after 
birth. We have seen why the instinctive activities are pleasurable 
and the acquired habits irksome. The gambler represents a class of 
men who have not been weaned from their instincts. There are in 
every species biological “sports” and reversions, and there are indi- 
viduals of this kind among sporting men who are not reached by 
ordinary social suggestion and stimuli. But granting that what we 
may call the instinctive interests are disproportionately strong in the 
sporting class, as compared with, say, the merchant class, yet these 
instincts are also strongly marked in what may roughly be called the 
artist class and in spite of a marked psychic disposition for stimuli of 
the emotional type; and precisely because of this disposition, the artist 
class has a very high social value. Art products are, indeed, perhaps 
more highly esteemed than any other products whatever. The artist 
class is not, therefore, socially unmanageable because of its instinctive 

_ interest, though perhaps we may say that some of its members are 
saved from social vagabondage only because their emotional predis- 
position has found an expression in emotional activities to which some 
social value can be attached. 


2. Conflict as a Type of Social Interaction’ 


That conflict has sociological significance inasmuch as it either 
produces or modifies communities of interest, unifications, organiza- 
tions, is in principle never contested. On the other hand, it must 
appear paradoxical to the ordinary mode of thinking to ask whether 
conflict itself, without reference to its consequences or its accompani- 
ments, is not a form of socialization. ‘This seems, at first glance, to 
be merely a verbal question. If every reaction among men is a 
socialization, of course conflict must count as such, since it is one of 
the most intense reactions and is logically impossible if restricted to a 

* Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel, Soziologie, by Albion W. Small, 


“The Sociology of Conflict,” in the American Journal of Sociology, IX (1903-4), 
490-501. 


| CONFLICT 63) | 


single element: The actually dissociating elements are the causes of 
the conflict—hatred_and envy, want and desire. If, however, from 
these impulses conflict has once broken out, it is in reality the way 
to remove the dualism and to arrive at some form of unity, even if 
through annihilation of one of the parties. The case is, in a way, 
illustrated by the most violent symptoms of disease. They fre- 
quently represent the efforts of the organism to free itself from 
disorders and injuries. This is by no means equivalent merely to 
the triviality, s¢ vis pacem para bellum, but it is the wide generaliza- 
tion of which that special case is a particular. Conflict itself is the 
resolution of the tension between the contraries. ‘That it eventuates 
in peace is only a single, specially obvious and evident, expression of 
the fact that it is a conjunction of elements. 

As the individual achieves the unity of his personality, not in 
such fashion that its contents invariably harmonize according to 
logical or material, religious or ethical, standards, but rather as 
contradiction and strife not merely precede that unity but are 
operative in it at every moment of life; so it is hardly to be expected 
that there should be any social unity in which the converging tenden- 
cies of the elements are not incessantly shot through with elements 
of divergence. A group which was entirely centripetal and harmo- 
nious—that is, ‘‘unification”’ merely—is not only impossible empiri- 
cally, but it would also display no essential life-process and no stable 
structure. As the cosmos requires Liebe und Hass, attraction and 
repulsion, in order to have a form, society likewise requires some 
quantitative relation of harmony and disharmony, association and 
dissociation, liking and disliking, in order to attain to a definite 
formation. Society, as it is given in fact, is the result of both cate- 
gories of reactions, and in so far both act in a completely positive way. 
The misconception that the one factor tears down what the other 
builds up, and that what at last remains is the result of subtracting 
the one from the other (while in reality it is much rather to be regarded 
as the addition: of one to the other), doubtless springs from the 
equivocal sense of the concept of unity. 

We describe as unity the agreement and the conjunction of 
social elements in contrast with their disjunctions, separations, dis- 
harmonies. We also use the term unity, however, for the total 
synthesis of the persons, energies, and forms in a group, in which the 


‘584 - INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 
é 7 . 


final wholeness is made up, not merely of those factors which are 
unifying in the narrower sense, but aJso of those which are, in the 
narrower sense, dualistic. We associate a corresponding double 
meaning with disunity or opposition. Since the latter displays its 
nullifying or destructive sense between the individual elements, the 
conclusion is hastily drawn that it must work in the same manner upon 
the total relationship. Inreality, however, it by no means follows that 
the factor which is something negative and diminutive in its action 
between individuals, considered in a given direction and separately, 
has the same working throughout the totality of its relationships. 
In this larger circle of relationships the perspective may be quite 
different. That which was negative and dualistic may, after de- 
duction of its destructive action in. particular relationships, on the 
whole, play an entirely positive rédle. This visibly appears especially 
in those instances where the social structure is characterized by 
exactness and carefully conserved purity of social divisions and 
gradations. 

The social system of India rests not only upon the hierarchy of 
the castes but also directly upon the reciprocal repulsion. Enrhities 
not merely prevent gradual disappearance of the boundaries within 
the society—and for this reason these enmities may be consciously 
promoted, as guaranty of the existing social constitution—but more 
than this, the enmities are directly productive sociologically. They 
give classes and personalities their position toward each other, which 
they would not have found if these objective causes of hostility had 
been present and effective in precisely the same way but had not 
been accompanied by the feeling of enmity. It is by no means 
certain that a secure and complete community life would always 
result if these energies should disappear which, looked at in detail, 
seem repulsive and destructive, just as a qualitatively unchanged and 
richer property results when unproductive elements disappear; but 
there would ensue rather a condition as changed, and often as un- 
realizable, as after the elimination of the forces of co-operation— 
sympathy, assistance, harmony of interests. 

The opposition of one individual element to another in the same 
association is by no means merely a negative socia! factor, but it is in 
many ways the only means through which coexistence with individuals 
intolerable in themselves could be possible. If we had not power 


CONFLICT 585 


and right to oppose tyranny and obstinacy, caprice and tactlessness, 
we could not endure relations with people who betray such character- 
istics. We should be driven to deeds of desperation which would 
put the relationships to an end. This follows not alone for the self- 
evident reason—-which, however, is not here essential—that such 
disagreeable circumstances tend to become intensified if they are 
endured quietly and without protest; but, more than this, opposition 
affords us a subjective satisfaction, diversion, relief, just as under 
other psychological conditions, whose variations need not here be 
discussed, the same results are brought about by humility and 
patience. Our opposition gives us the feeling that we are not com- 
pletely crushed in the relationship. It permits us to preserve a 
consciousness of energy, and thus lends a vitality and a reciprocity 
to relationships from which, without this corrective, we should have 
extricated ourselves at any price. In case the relationships are 
purely external, and consequently do not reach deeply into the 
practical, the latent form of conflict discharges this service, i.e., 
aversion,’ the feeling of reciprocal alienation and repulsion, which in 
the moment of a more intimate contact of any sort is at once trans- 
formed into positive hatred and conflict. Without this aversion life 
in a great city, which daily brings each into contact with countless 
others, would have no thinkable form. The activity of our minds 
responds to almost every impression received from other people in 
some sort of a definite feeling, all the unconsciousness, transience, 
and variability of which seem to remain only in the form of a certain 
indifference. In fact, this latter would be as unnatural for us as it 
would be intolerable to be swamped under a multitude of suggestions 
among which we have no choice. Antipathy protects us against these 
two typical dangers of the great city. It is the initial stage of practical 
antagonism. It produces the distances and the buffers without which 
this kind of life could not be led at all. The mass and the mixtures 
of this life, the forms in which it is carried on, the rhythm of its rise 
and fall—these unite with the unifying motives, in the narrower 
sense, to give to a great city the character of an indissoluble whole. 
- Whatever in this whole seems to be an element of division is thus in 
reality only one of its elementary forms of socialization. 

A struggle for struggle’s sake seems to have its natural basis in a 
certain formal impulse of hostility, which forces itself sometimes upon 








586 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


psychological observation, and in various forms. In the first place, 
it appears as that natural enmity between man and man which is 
often emphasized by skeptical moralists. The argument is: Since, 
there is something not wholly displeasing to us in the misfortune of 
our best friends, and, since the presupposition excludes, in this 
instance, conflict of material interests, the phenomenon must be 
traced back to an a priori hostility, to that homo homint lupus, as the 
frequently veiled, but perhaps never inoperative, basis of ali our 
relationships. 


3. Types of Conflict Situations’ 


a) War.—The reciprocal relationship of primitive groups is 
notoriously, and for reasons frequently discussed almost invariably, 
one of hostility. ‘The decisive illustration is furnished perhaps by 
the American Indians, among whom every tribe on general principles 
was supposed to be on a war footing toward every other tribe with 
which it had no express treaty of peace. It is, however, not to be 
forgotten that in early stages of culture war constitutes almost the 
only form in which contact with an alien group occurs. So long as 
inter-territorial trade was undeveloped, individual tourneys unknown, 
and intellectual community did not extend beyond the group bounda- 
ries, there was, outside of war, no sociological relationship whatever 
between the various groups. Im this case the relationship of the 
elements of the group to each other and that of the primitive groups 
to each other present completely contrasted forms. Within the 
closed circle hostility signifies, as a rule, the severing of relationships, 
voluntary isolation, and the avoidance of contact. Along with these 
negative phenomena there will also appear the phenomena of the 
passionate reaction of open struggle. On the other hand, the group 
as a whole remains indifferently side by side with similar groups so 
long as peace exists. ‘The consequence is that these groups become 
significant for each other only when war breaks out. That the 
attitude of hostility, considered likewise from this point of view, may 
arise independently in the soul is the less to be doubted since it repre- 
sents here, as in many another easily observable situation, the 


* Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel, Soziologie, by Albion W. Small, 
“The Societogy of Conflict,” in the American Journal af Sociology, TX (1903-4), 
505-8. 


CONFLICT 587 


embodiment of an impulse which is in the first place quite general, 
but which also occurs in quite peculiar forms, namely, the impulse to 
. act in relationships with others. 

In spite of this spontaneity and independence, which we may 
thus attribute to the antagonistic impulse, there still remains the 
question whether it suffices to account for the total phenomena of 
hostility. This question must be answered in the negative. In the 
first place, the spontaneous impulse does not exercise itself upon 
every object but only upon those that are in some way promising. 
Hunger, for example, springs from the subject. It does not have its 
origin in the object. Nevertheless, it will not attempt to satisfy 
itself with wood or stone but it will select only edible objects. In 
the same way, love and hatred, however little their impulses may 
depend upon external stimuli, will yet need, some sort of opposing 
object, and only with such co-operation will the complete phenomena 
appear. On the other hand, it seems to me probable that the hostile 
impulse, on account of its formal character, in general intervenes, 
only as a reinforcement of conflicts stimulated by material interest, 
and at the same time furnishes a foundation for the conflict. And 
where a struggle springs up from sheer formal love of fighting, which is 
also entirely impersonal and indifferent both to the material at issue 
and to the personal opponent, hatred and fury against the opponent 
as a person unavoidably increase in the course of the conflict, and 
probably also the interest in the stake at issue, because these affections 
stimulate and feed the psychical energy of the struggle. It is ad- 
vantageous to hate the opponent with whom one is for any reason 
struggling, as it is useful to love him with whom one’s lot is united 
and with whom one must co-operate. The reciprocal attitude of 
men is often intelligible only on the basis of the perception that 
actual adaptation to a situation teaches us those feelings which are 
appropriate to it; feelings which are the most appropriate to the 
employment or the overcoming of the circumstances of the situation; 
feelings which bring us, through psychical association, the energies 
necessary for discharging the momentary task and for defeating the 
opposing impulses. 

Accordingly, no serious struggle can long continue without being 
supported by a complex of psychic impulses. These may, to be sure, 
gradually develop into effectiveness © the course of the struggle. 


588 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The purity of conflict merely for conflict’s sake, accordingly, under- 
goes adulteration, partly through the admixture of objective interests, 
partly by the introduction of impulses which may be satisfied other- 
wise than by struggle, and which, in practice, form a bridge between 
struggle and other forms of reciprocal relationship. I know in fact 
only a single case in which the stimulus of struggle and of victory in 
itself constitutes the exclusive motive, namely, the war game, and only 
in the case that no further gain is to arise than is included in the 
outcome of the game itself. In this case the pure sociological attrac- 
tion of self-assertion and predominance over another in a struggle of 
skill is combined with purely individual pleasure in the exercise 
of purposeful and successful activity, together with the excitement of 
taking risks with the hazard of fortune which stimulates us with a 
sense of mystic harmony of relationship to powers beyond the indi- 
vidual, as well as the social occurrences. At all events, the war game, 
in its soctological motivation, contains absolutely nothing but struggle 
itself. The worthless markers, for the sake of which men often 
play with the same earnestness with which they play for gold pieces, 
indicate the formalism of this impulse which, even in the play for 
gold pieces, often far outweighs the material interest. The thing to 
be noticed, however, is that, in order that the foregoing situations 
may occur, certain sociological forms—in the narrower sense, uni- 
fications—are presupposed. ‘There must be agreement in order to 
struggle, and the struggle occurs under reciprocal recognition of 
norms and rules. In the motivation of the whole procedure these 
unifications, as said above, do not appear, but the whole transaction 
shapes itself under the forms which these explicit or implicit agree- 
ments furnish. They create the technique. Without this, such a 
conflict, excluding all heterogeneous or objective factors, would not 
be possible. Indeed, the conduct of the war game is often so rigorous, 
so.impersonal, and observed on both sides with such nice sense of honor 
that unities of a corporate order can seldom in these respects compare 
with it. 

b) Feud and faction.—The occasion for separate discussion of 
the feud is that here, instead of the consciousness of difference, an 
entirely new motive emerges—the peculiar phenomenon of social 
hatred, that is, of hatred toward a member of a group, not from 
personal motives, but because he threatens the existence of the group. 


CONFLICT 589 


In so far as such a dangér threatens through feud within the group, 
the one party hates the other, not alone on the material ground 
which instigated the quarrel, but also on the sociological ground, 
namely, that we hate the enemy of the group as such; that is, the one 
from whom danger to its unity threatens. Inasmuch as this is a 
reciprocal matter, and each attributes the fault of endangering the 
whole to the other, the antagonism acquires a severity which does 
not occur when membership in a group-unity is not a factor in the 
situation. Most characteristic in this connection are the cases in 
which an actual dismemberment of the group has not yet occurred. 
If this dismemberment has already taken place, it signifies a certain 
termination of the conflict. The individual difference has found its 
sociological termination, and the stimulus to constantly renewed 
friction is removed. To this result the tension between antagonism 
and still persisting unity must directly work. As it is fearful to be 
at enmity with a person to whom one is nevertheless bound, from | 
whom one cannot be freed, whether externally or subjectively, even 
if one wiil, so there is increased bitterness if one will not detach him- 
self from the community because he is not willing to give up the value 
of membership in the containing unity, or because he feels this unity 
as an objective good, the threatening of which deserves conflict and 
hatred. From such a correlation as this springs the embittering 
with which, for example, quarrels are fought out within a political 
faction or a trade union or a family. | 

The individual soul offers an analogy. The feeling that a con- 
flict between sensuous and ascetic feelings, or selfish and moral 
impulses, or practical and intellectual ambitions, within us not 
merely lowers the claims of one or both parties and permits neither 
to come to quite free self-realization but also threatens the unity, the 
equilibrium, and the total energy of the soul as a whole—this feeling 
may in many cases repress conflict from the beginning. In case the 
feeling cannot avail to that extent, it, on the contrary, impresses upon 
the conflict a character of bitterness and desperation, an emphasis as 
though a struggle were really taking place for something much more 
’ essential than the immediate issue of the controversy. ‘The energy 
with which each of these tendencies seeks to subdue the others is 
nourished not only by their egoistic interest but by the interest which 
goes much farther than that and attaches itself to the unity of the 





590 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


ego, for which this struggle means dismemberment and destruction 
if it does not end with a victory for unity. Accordingly, struggle 
within a closely integrated group often enough grows beyond the 
measure which its object and its immediate interest for the parties 
could justify. The feeling accumulates that this struggle is an affair 
not merely of the party but of the group as a whole; that each party 
must hate in its opponent, not an opponent merely, but at the 
same time the enemy of its higher sociological unity. 

c) Litigation.—Moreover, what we are accustomed to call the 
joy and passion of conflict in the case of a legal process is probably, 
in most cases, something quite different, namely, the energetic sense 
of justice, the impossibility of tolerating an actual or supposed invasion 
of the sphere of right with which the ego feels a sense of solidarity. 
The whole obstinacy and uncompromising persistence with which 
parties in such struggles often maintain the controversy to their 
own hurt has, even in the case of the aggressive party, scarcely the 
character of an attack in the proper sense, but rather of a defense in 
a deeper significance. \ The point at issue is the self-preservation of 
the personality which so identifies itself with its possessions and its 
rights that any invasion of them seems to be a destruction of the 
personality; | and the struggle to protect them at the risk of the 
whole existence is thoroughly consistent. This individualistic 
impulse, and not the sociological motive of struggle, will consequently 
characterize such cases. 

With respect to the form of the struggle itself, however, judicial- 
conflict is, to be sure, of an absolute sort; that is, the reciprocal 
claims are asserted with a relentless objectivity and with employment 
of all available means, without being diverted or modified by personal 
or other extraneous considerations. ‘The judicial conflict is, there- 
fore, absolute conflict in so far as nothing enters the whole action 
which does not properly belong in the conflict and which does not 
serve the ends of conflict; whereas, otherwise, even in the most 
savage struggles, something subjective, some pure ireak of fortune, 
some sort of interposition from a third side, is at least possible. In 
the legal struggle everything of the kind is excluded by the matter- 
of-factness with which the contention, and absolutely nothing out- 
side the contention, is kept in view. This exclusion from the judicial 
controversy of everything which is not material to the conflict may 


= 4 





CONFLICT 591 


to be sure, lead to a formalism of the struggle which may come to 
have an independent character in contrast with the content itself. 
This occurs, on the one hand, when real elements are not weighed 
against each other at all but only quite abstract notions maintain 
controversy with each other. On the other hand, the controversy is 
often shifted to elements which have no relation whatever to the 
subject which is to be decided by the struggle. Where legal con- 
troversies, accordingly, in higher civilizations are fought out by 
attorneys, the device serves to abstract the controversy from all 
personal associations which are essentially irrelevant. If, on the other 
hand, Otto the Great ordains that a legal controversy shall be settled | 
by judicial duel between professional fighters, there remains of the 
whole struggle of interests only the bare form, namely, that there 
shall be struggle and victory. 

This latter case portrays, in the exaggeration of caricature, the 
reduction of the judicial conflict to the mere struggle element. But 
precisely through its pure objectivity because it stands quite beyond 
the subjective antitheses of pity and cruelty, this unpitying type of 
struggle, as a whole, rests on the presupposition of a unity and a 
community of the parties never elsewhere so severely and constantly 
maintained. ‘The common subordination to the law, the reciprocal 
recognition that the decision can be made only according to the 
objective weight of the evidence, the observance of forms which are 
held to be inviolable by both parties, the consciousness throughout 
the whole procedure of being encompassed by a social power and order 
which are the means of giving to the procedure its significance and 
security—all this makes the legal controversy rest upon a broad 
basis of community and consensus between the opponents. It is 
really a unity of a lesser degree which is constituted by the parties 
to a compact or to a commercial transaction, a presupposition of 
which is the recognition, along with the antithesis of interests, that 
they are subject to certain common, constraining, and obligatory 
rules. ‘The common presuppositions, which exclude everything that 
is merely personal from the legal controversy, have that character of 
- pure objectivity to which, on its side, the sharpness, the inexorableness, 
and the absoluteness of the species of struggle correspond. The 
reciprocity between the dualism and the unity of the sociological 
relationship is accordingly shown by the judicial struggle not less 


; Ye 


592 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


than by the war game. Precisely the most extreme and unlimited 
phases of struggle occur in both cases, since the struggle is surrounded 
and maintained by the severe unity of common norms and limitations. 

d) The conflict of impersonal ideals.—Finally, there is the situ- 
ation in which the parties are moved by an objective interest; that 
is, where the interest of the struggle, and consequently the struggle 
itself, is differentiated from the personality. The consciousness of 
being merely the representative of superindividual claims—that is, 
of fighting not for self but only for the thing itself—may lend to the 
struggle a radicalism and mercilessness which have their analogy in 
the total conduct of many very unselfish and high-minded men. 
Because they grant themselves no consideration, they likewise have 
none for others and hold themselves entirely justified in sacrificing 
everybody else to the idea to which they are themselves a sacrifice. 
Such a struggle, into which all the powers of the person are thrown, 
while victory accrues only to the cause, carries the character of 
respectability, for the reputable man is the wholly personal, who, 
however, understands how to hold his personality entirely in check. 
Hence objectivity operates as noblesse. When, however, this dif- 
ferentiation is accomplished, and struggle is objectified, it is not 
subjected to a further reserve, which would be quite inconsistent; 
indeed, that would be a sin against the content of the interest itself 
upon which the struggle had been localized. On the basis of this 
common element between the parties—namely, that each defends 
merely the issue and its right, and excludes from consideration 
everything selfishly personal—the struggle is fought out without the 
sharpness, but also without the mollifyings, which come from inter- 
mingling of the personal element. Merely the immanent logic of. the 
situation is obeyed with absolute precision. -This form of antithesis 
between unity and antagonism intensifies conflict perhaps most 
perceptibly in cases where both parties actually pursue one and the 
same purpose; for example, in the case of scientific controversies, in 
which the issue is the establishment of the truth. Im such a case, 
every concession, every polite consent to stop short of exposing the 
errors of the opponent in the most unpitying fashion, every conclusion 
of peace previous to decisive victory, would be treason against that 
reality for the sake of which the personal element is excluded from 
the conflict. 


CONFLICT 593 


With endless varieties otherwise, the social struggles since Marx 
have developed themselves in the above form. Since it is recognized 
that the situation of laborers is determined by the objective organiza- 
tion and formulas of the productive system, independent of the will and 
power of individual persons, the personal embitterment incident to the 
struggle in general and to local conflicts exemplifying the general 
conflict necessarily diminishes. The entrepreneur is no longer, as 
such, a blood-sucker and damnable egotist; the laborer is no longer 
universally assumed to act from sinful greed; both parties begin, at 
least, to abandon the program of charging the other with demands 
and tactics inspired by personal malevolence. ‘This literalizing of 
the conflict has come about in Germany rather along the lines of 
theory; in England, through the operation of the trade unions, in 
the course of which the individually personal element of the antago- 
nism has been overcome. In Germany this was effected largely 
through the more abstract generalization of the historical and class 
movement. In England it came about through the severe super- 
individual unity in the actions of the unions and of the combinations 
of employers. ‘The intensity of the struggle, however, has not on that 
account diminished. On the contrary, it has become much more 
conscious of its purpose, more concentrated, and at the same time 
more aggressive, through the consciousness of the individual that he 
is struggling not merely, and often not at all, for himself but rather 
for a vast superpersonal end. . 

A most interesting symptom of this correlation was presented by 
the boycotting of the Berlin breweries by the labor body in the year 
1894. This was one of the most intense local struggles of the last 
decade. It was carried on by both sides with extraordinary energy, 
yet without any personal offensiveness on either side toward the other, 
although the stimulus was close at hand. Indeed, two of the party 
leaders, in the midst of the struggle, published their opinions about 
it in the same journal. They agreed in their formulation of the objec- 
tive facts, and disagreed in a partisan spirit only in the practical 
conclusions drawn from the facts. Inasmuch as the struggle elimi- 
‘nated everything irrelevantly personal, and thereby restricted antago- 
nism quantitatively, facilitating an understanding about everything 
personal, producing a recognition of being impelled on both sides by 
historical necessities, this common basis did not reduce but. rather 


594 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


increased, the intensity, the irreconcilability, and the obstinate 
consistency of the struggle. 


B. WAR, INSTINCTS, AND IDEALS 
1. War and Human Nature! 


What can be said of the causes of war—not its political and 
economic causes, nor yet the causes that are put forth by the nations 
engaged in the conflict, but its psychological causes ? 

The fact that war to no small extent removes cultural repres- 
' sions and allows the instincts to come to expression in full force is 
undoubtedly a considerable factor. In his unconscious man really 
takes pleasure in throwing aside restraints and permitting him- 
self the luxury of the untrammeled expression of his primitive 
animal tendencies. ‘The social conventions, the customs, the forms, 
and institutions which he has built up in the path of his cultural 
progress represent so much energy in the service of repression. 
Repression represents continuous effort, while a state of war permits 
a, relaxation of this effort and therefore relief. 

We are familiar, in other fields, with the phenomena of the 
unconscious, instinctive tendencies breaking through the bounds 
imposed upon them by repression. ‘The phenomena of crime and of 
so-called ‘‘insanity”’ represent such examples, while drunkenness is 
one instance familiar to all. Im vino veritas expresses the state of the 
drunken man when his real, that is, his primitive, self frees itself 
from restraint and runs riot. The psychology of the crowd shows 
this mechanism at work, particularly in such sinister instances as 
lynching, while every crowd of college students marching yelling and 
howling down the main street of the town after a successful cane 
rush exhibits the joy of unbottling the emotions in ways that no 
individual would for a moment think of availing himself. 

In addition to these active demonstrations of the unconscious 
there are those of a more passive sort. Not a few men are only too 
glad to step aside from the burden of responsibilities which they are 
forced to carry and seek refuge in a situation in which they no longer 
have to take the initiative but must only do as they are directed by 
a superior authority. ‘The government in some of its agencies takes 


t Adapted from William A. White, Thoughts of a Psychiatrist on the War and 
After, pp. 75-87. (Paul B. Hoeber, 1919.) 





CONFLICT 595 


over certain of their obligations, such as the support of wife and 
children, and they clear out, free from the whole sordid problem of 
poverty, into a situation filled with dramatic interest. ‘Then, too, 
if anything goes wrong at home they are not to blame, they have done 
their best, and what they have done meets with public approval. 
Is it any wonder that an inhabitant of the slums should be glad to 
exchange poverty and dirt, a sick wife and half-starved children, for 
glorious freedom, especially when he is urged by every sort of appeal 
to patriotism and duty to do so? 

But all these are individual factors that enter into the causes of 
war. ‘They represent some of the reasons why men like to fight, for 
it is difficult not to believe that if no one wanted to fight war would 
be possible at all. They too represent the darker side of the picture. 
War as already indicated offers, on the positive side, the greatest 
opportunities for the altruistic tendencies; it offers the most glorious 
occasion for service and returns for such acts the greatest possible 
premium in social esteem. But it seems to me that the causes of 
war lie much deeper, that they involve primarily the problems of the 
herd rather than the individual, and I think there are good biological 
analogies which make this highly probable. 

The mechanism of integration explains how the development of 
the group was dependent upon the subordination of the parts to the 
whole. This process of integration tends to solve more and more 
effectively the problems of adjustment, particularly in some aspects, 
in the direction of ever-increasing stability. It is the process of the 
structuralization of function. ‘This increase in stability, however, 
while it has the advantage of greater certainty of reaction, has the 
disadvantage of a lessened capacity for variation, and so is dependent 
for its efficiency upon a stable environment. As long as nothing 
unusual is asked of such a mechanism it works admirably, but as soon 
as the unusual arises it tends to break down completely. Life, how- 
ever, is not stable; it is fluid, in a continuous state of flux, so, while 
the development of structure to meet certain demands of adaptation 
is highly desirable and necessary, it of necessity has limits which 
~ must sooner or later be reached in every instance. The most typical 
example of this is the process of growing old. The child is highly 
adjustable and for that reason not to be depended upon; the adult 
js-more dependable but less adjustable; the old man has become 


596 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


stereotyped in his reactions. Nature’s solution of this impasse is 
death. Death insures the continual removal of the no longer adjust- 
able, and the places of those who die are filled by new material 
capable of the new demands. But it is the means that nature takes 
to secure the renewal of material still capable of adjustment that is 
of significance. From each adult sometime during the course of his 
life nature provides that a small bit shall be detached which, in the 
higher animals, in union with a similar detached bit of another indi- 
vidual will develop into a child and ultimately be ready to replace 
the adult when he becomes senile and dies. Life is thus maintained 
by a continuous stream of germ plasm and is not periodically inter- 
rupted in its course, as it seems to be, by death. 

The characteristics of this detached bit’ of germ plasm are inter- 
esting. It does not manifest any of that complicated structure which 
we meet with in the other parts of the body. ‘The several parts of 
the body are highly differentiated, each for a specific function. Gland 
cells are developed to secrete, muscle cells to contract, bone cells to 
withstand mechanical stresses, etc. Manifestly development along 
any one of these lines would not produce an individual possessing, in 
its several parts, all of these qualities. Development has to go back 
of the point of origin of these several variations in order to inelude 
them all. In other words, regeneration has to start with relatively 
undifferentiated material. This is excellently illustrated by many of 
the lower, particularly the unicellular, animals, in which reproduc- 
tion is not yet sexual, but by the simple method of division. A cell 
comes to rest, divides into two, and each half then leads an independ- 
ent existence. Before such a division and while the cell is quiescent— 
in the resting stage, as it is called—the differentiations of structure 
which it had acquired in its lifetime disappear; it becomes undiffer- 
entiated, relatively simple in structure. ‘This process has been called 
dedifferentiation. When all the differentiations which had been: 
acquired have been eliminated, then division—rejuvenescence— 
takes place. 

From this point of view we may see in war the preliminary process 
of rejuvenescence. International adjustments and compromises are 
made until they can be made no longer; a condition is brought about 
which in Europe has been termed the balance of power, until the situ- 





CONFLICT 597 


ation becomes so complicated that each new adjustment has such 
wide ramifications that it threatens the whole structure. Finally, as 
the result of the accumulated structure of diplomatic relations and 
precedents, a situation arises to which adjustment, with the machinery 
that has been developed, is impossible and the whole house of cards 
collapses. ‘The collapse is a process of dedifferentiation during which 
the old structures are destroyed, precedents are disavowed, new 
situations occur with bewildering rapidity, for dealing with which 
there is no recognized machinery available. Society reverts from a 
state in which a high grade of individual initiative and development 
was possible to a relatively communistic and paternalistic state, the 
slate is wiped clear, and a start can be made anew along lines of 
progress mapped out by the new conditions—rejuvenescence is 
possible. 

War, from this point of view, is a precondition for development 
along new lines of necessity, and the dedifferentiation is the first 
stage of a constructive process. Old institutions have to be torn 
down before the bricks with which they were built can be made 
available for new structures. This accounts for the periodicity of 
war, which thus is the outward and evident aspect of the progress 
of the life-force which in human societies, as elsewhere, advances 
in cycles. It is only by such means that an impasse can be over- 
come. 

War is an example of ambivalency on the grandest scale. That 
is, it is at once potent for the greatest good and the greatest evil: 
in the very midst of death it calls for the most intense living; in the 
face of the greatest renunciation it offers the greatest premium; for 
the maximum of freedom it demands the utmost giving of one’s self; 
in order to live at one’s best it demands the giving of life itself. ‘‘No 
man has reached his ethical majority who would not die if the real 
interests of the community could thus be furthered. What would 
the world be without the values that have been bought at the price 
of death?” In this sense the great creative force, love, and the 
supreme negation, death, become one. That the larger life of 
’ the race should go forward to greater things, the smaller life of the 
individual must perish. In order that man shall be born again, he 
must first die. 


598 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Does all this necessarily mean that war, from time to time, in 
the process of readjustment, is essential? I think no one can doubt 
that it has been necessary in the past. Whether it will be in the future 
depends upon whether some sublimated form of procedure can 
adequately be substituted. We have succeeded to a large extent in 
dealing with our combative instincts by developing sports and the 
competition of business, and we have largely sublimated our hate 
instinct in dealing with various forms of anti-social conduct as 
exhibited in the so-called ‘‘criminal.”’ It remains to be seen whether 
nations can unite to a similar end and perhaps, by the establishment 
of an international court, and by other means, deal in a similar way 
with infractions of international law. 


2. War as a Form of Relaxation! 


The fact is that it does not take a very careful reader of the hu- 
man mind to see that all the utopias and all the socialistic schemes 
are based on a mistaken notion of the nature of this mind. 

It is by no means sure that what man wants is peace and quiet 
and tranquillity. That is too close to ennui, which is his greatest 
dread. What man wants is not peace but a battle. He must pit 
his force against someone or something. Every language is most 
rich in synonyms for battle, war, contest, conflict, quarrel, combat, 
fight. German children play all day long with their toy soldiers. 
Our sports take the form of contests in football, baseball, and hun- 
dreds of others. Prize fights, dog fights, cock fights, have pleased in | 
all ages. When Rome for a season was not engaged in real war, 
Claudius staged a sea fight for the delectation of an immense con- 
course, in which 19,000 gladiators were compelled to take a tragic 
part, so that the ships were broken to pieces and the waters of the 
lake were red with blood. 

You may perhaps recall Professor James’s astonishing picture of 
his visit to a Chautauqua. Here he found modern culture at its 
best, no poverty, no drunkenness, no zymotic diseases, no crime, no 
police, only polite and refined and harmless people. Here was a 
middle-class paradise, kindergarten and model schools, lectures and 
classes and music, bicycling and swimming, and culture and kindness 


* From G. T. W. Patrick, “The Psychology of War,” in the Popular Science 
Monthly, LXXXVII (1915), 166-68. 





CONFLICT 599 


and elysian peace. But at the end of a week he came out into the 
real world, and he said: 


Ouf! What a relief! Now for something primordial and savage, even 
though it were as bad as an Armenian massacre, to set the balance straight 
again. ‘This order is too tame, this culture too second-rate, this goodness 
too uninspiring. This human drama, without a villain or a pang; this 
community so refined that ice-cream soda-water is the utmost offering it can 
make to the brute animal in man; this city simmering in the tepid lakeside 
sun; this atrocious harmlessness of all things—I cannot abide with them. 


What men want, he says, is something more precipitous, some- 
thing with more zest in it, with more adventure. Nearly all the 
utopias paint the life of the future as a kind of giant Chautauqua, in 
which every man and woman is at work, all are well fed, satisfied, and 
cultivated. But as man is now constituted he would probably find 
such a life flat, stale, and unprofitable. 

Man is not originally a working animal. Civilization has imposed 
work upon man, and if you work him too hard he will quit work and 
go to war. ‘Nietzsche says man wants two things—danger and play. 
War represents danger. 

It follows that all our social utopias are wrongly conceived. They 
are all based on a theory of pleasure economy. But history and 
evolution show that man has come up from the lower animals through 
a pain economy. He has struggled up—-fought his way up through 
never-ceasing pain and effort and struggle and battle. The utopias 
picture a society in which man has ceased to struggle. He works 
his eight hours a day—-everybody works—and he sleeps and enjoys 
himself the other hours. But man is not a working animal, he is a 
fighting animal. The utopias are ideal—but they are not psy- 
chological. The citizens for such an ideal social order are lacking. 
Human beings will not serve. 

Our present society tends more and more in its outward form in 
time of peace toward the Chautauqua plan, but meanwhile striving 
and passion burn in the brain of the human units, till the time comes 
when they find this insipid life unendurable. They resort to amuse- 
ment crazes, to narcotic drugs, to political strife, to epidemics of 
crime, and finally to war. ‘The alcohol question weli illustrates the 
tendencies we are pointing out. Science and hygiene have at last 


600 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


shown beyond all question that alcohol, whether in large or smaller 
doses, exerts a damaging effect upon both mind and body. It lessens 
physical and mental efficiency, shortens life, and encourages social 
disorder. In spite of this fact and, what is still more amazing, in 
spite of the colossal effort now being put forth to suppress by legisla- 
tive means the traffic in liquor, the per capita consumption of alcoholic 
drinks in the United States increases from year to year. From a 
per capita consumption of four gallons in 1850, it has steadily risen 
to nearly twenty-five gallons in 1973. 

Narcotic drugs, such as alcohol and tobacco, relieve in an artificial 
way the tension upon the brain by slightly paralyzing temporarily 
the higher and more recently developed brain centers. ‘The increase 
in the use of these drugs is therefore both an index of the tension of 
modern life and at the same time a means of relieving it to some 
extent. Were the use of these drugs suddenly checked, no student 
of psychology or of history could doubt that there would be an 
immediate increase of social irritability, tending to social instability 
and social upheavals. 

Psychology, therefore, forces upon us this conclusion. Neither 
war nor alcohol can be banished from the world by summary means 
nor direct suppressions. The mind of man must be made over. 
As the mind of man is constituted, he will never be content to be a 
mere laborer, a producer and a consumer. He loves adventure, self- 
sacrifice, heroism, relaxation. 

These things must somehow be provided. And then there must 
be a system of education of our young differing widely from our 
present system. ‘The new education will not look to efficiency merely 
and ever more efficiency, but to the production of a harmonized and 
balanced personality. We must cease our worship of American 
efficiency and German Séreberthum and go back to Aristotle and his 
teaching of ‘the mean.” 


3. The Fighting Animal and the Great Society‘ 


We must agree that man as he has existed, so far as we can read 
the story of his development, has been, and as he exists today still 
is, a fighting animal—that is to say that he has in the past answered, 


* Adapted from Henry Rutgers Marshall, War and the Ideal of Peace, 
vp. 06-110. (Duffield & Co., 1915.) 


CONFLICT 601 


and still answers, certain stimuli by the immediate reactions which 
constitute fighting. 

We find evidence of the existence of this fighting instinct in the 
ordinary men around us. Remove but for a moment the restraints 
given in our civilized lands and this tendency is likely to become 
prominent upon the slightest stimulation. We see this exemplified 
in the lives of the pioneer and adventurer the world over: in that of 
the cowboy of the far West, in that of the rubber collector on the 
Amazon, in that of the ivory trader on the Congo. 

Then, too, the prize fighter is still a prominent person in our 
community, taken as a whole, and even in our sports, as engaged in 
by “gentlemen amateurs,” we find it necessary to make rigid rules 
to prevent the friendly contest from developing into a fierce struggle 
for individual physical dominance. 

But man gained his pre-eminent position among the animals 
mainly through his ability to form co-operative groups working to 
common ends; and long before the times of which anthropological 
research give us any clear knowledge, man had turned his individual- 
istic fighting instincts to the service of his group or clan. That is 
to say, he had become a warrior, giving his best strength to co- 
operative aggression in behalf of satisfactions that could not be 
won by him as an individual acting for himself. 

Our earlier studies have taught us also that if man’s instinctive 
tendencies could in any manner be inhibited or modified, so that he 
came to display other characteristics than those observed in the 
present expression of these inborn instincts, then the law of his nature 
would in that very fact be changed. We are thus led to ask whether 
the biologist finds evidence that an animal’s instincts can be thus 
changed in mode of expression. 

The biologist speaks to us somewhat as follows. Although new 
racial characteristics have very rarely, if ever, been gained by the 
obliteration of instincts, changes in racial characteristics have not 
infrequently occurred as the result of the control, rather than the 
loss, of these inherited instincts. 

This control may become effective in either one of two ways: 
first, by the thwarting or inhibition of the expression of the instincts; 
or secondly, by the turning of its expression to other uses than that 
which originally resulted in its fixation. 


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602 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


As an example of the thwarting of the expression of an instinct 
we may take the functioning of the sexual instinct, which, as we see 
it in animals in general, has been inhibited in the human animal by 
the habits acquired by man as he has risen in the scale. 

This mode of change—that of the mere chaining of the instinc- 
tive tendency—is subject to one great difficulty. The chain may 
by chance be broken; the inhibition may be removed; then the 
natural instinctive tendency at once shows itself. Remove the 
restraints of civilized society but a little, and manifestations of the 
sexual instinct-of our race appear in forms that are not far removed 
from those observed in the animal. Place a man under conditions 
of starvation and he shows himself as greedy as the dog. 

The second mode of change—that of the transference of func- 
tioning of the instincts into new channels—meets this special dif- 
ficulty, for it does not depend upon the chaining of the instinct. It 
actually makes use of the instinct. And the more important to the 
race the newer reference of the instinct’s functioning turns out to be, 
the more certain is it to replace the original reference. If the new 
mode of functioning brings marked advantage that is lost by reversion 
to the earlier manifestation of the instinct, so that such a reversion 
to this earlier manifestation is a detriment to the race, then the 
change is likely to become a permanent one. 

No better example of this second mode of change of an instinct’s 
functioning can be found than in the very existence of war itself. 
The basic instinct is one that led the savage man to fight to protect 
himself or to gain something for himself by aggressive attack. War 
has come into being as the result of a transfer of the functioning of 
this instinct, which at first had only an individualistic reference, so 
that it has come to have a clan or national reference. ‘The early man 
found he could not have success as an individual unless he joined 
with his fellow-men in defense and aggression; and that meant war. 

And note that this transfer of reference of the expression of this 
fighting instinct soon became so important to the race that reversion 
to its primal individualistic reference had to be inhibited. Aggressive 
attack by an individual upon another of his own clan or nation 
necessarily tended to weaken the social unit and to reduce its strength 
in its protective and aggressive wars; and thus such attacks by indi- 


“a, 


CONFLICT 603 


viduals came to be discountenanced and finally in large measure 
repressed, 

Here, it will be observed, the fighting instinct of the individual 
has not been obliterated; it has not even been bound with chains; 
but its modes of expression have been altered to have racial signifi- 
cance, and to have so great a significance in this new relation that 
reversion to its primary form of expression has become a serious 
obstacle to racial advance. 

So it appears after all that, although instincts can rarely if ever 
be obliterated, their manifestations may be so altered as to give the 
animal quite new characteristics. And this means that if the char- 
acteristics which we describe as the expressions of man’s fighting 
instincts could be so changed that these expressions were inhibited 
or turned into quite new channels, the man would no longer be 
describable as a fighting animal. 

The first indication in our conscious life of any tendency to inhibit 
or modify the functioning of any instinct or habit must appear in 
the form of a dislike of, a revulsion from, the resultants of this func- 
tioning; and in the creation of an ideal of functioning that shall 
avoid the discomforts attendant upon this revulsion. And when 
such an ideal has once been gained, it is possible, as we have seen, 
that the characteristics of nature may be changed by our creative 
efficiency through the devising of means looking to the realization of” 
the ideal. 

We have the clearest evidence that this process is developing in 
connection with these special instincts that make for war; for we men 
and women in these later times are repelled by the results of the 
functioning of these fighting instincts, and we have created the ideal 
of peace, the conception of a condition that is not now realized in 
nature, but which we think of as possible of realization. 

But the very existence of an ideal is indicative of a tendency, on 
the part of the man who entertains it, to modify his characteristic 
activities. ‘Thus it appears that we have in the very existence of this 
ideal of peace the evidence that we may look for a change in man’s 
nature, the result of which will be that we shall no longer be war- 
ranted in describing him as a fighting animal. 


604 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


C. RIVALRY, CULTURAL CONFLICTS, AND SOCIAL ORGANIZATION 


1. Animal Rivalry’ 


Among mammals the instinct of one and all is to lord it over the 
others, with the result that the one more powerful or domineering 
gets the mastery, to keep it thereafter as long as he can. The lower 
animals are, in this respect, very much like us; and in all kinds that 
are at all fierce-tempered the mastery of one over all, and of a few 
under him over the others, is most salutary; indeed, it is inconceiv- 
able that they should be able to exist together under any other system. 

On cattle-breeding establishments on the pampas, where it is 
usual to keep a large number of fierce-tempered dogs, I have observed 
these animals a great deal and presume they are much like feral dogs 
and wolves in their habits. Their quarrels are incessant; but when 
_ a fight begins, the head of the pack asa rule rushes to the spot, where- 
upon the fighters separate and march off in different directions or 
else cast themselves down and deprecate their tyrant’s wrath with 
abject gestures and whines. If the combatants are both strong and 
have worked themselves into a mad rage before their head puts in 
an appearance, it may go hard with him; they know him no longer 
and all he can do is to join in the fray; then if the fighters turn on 
him he may be so injured that his power is gone and the next best 
dog in the pack takes his place. The hottest contests are always 
between dogs that are well matched; neither will give place to the 
other and so they fight it out; but from the foremost in power down 
to the weakest there is a gradation of authority; each one knows 
just how far he can go, which companion he can bully when he is in 
a bad temper or wishes to assert himself, and to which he must 
humbly yield in his turn. In such a state the weakest one must 
yield to all the others and cast himself down, seeming to call himself 
a slave and worshiper of any other member of the pack that chances to 
snarl at him or command him to give up his bone with good grace. 

This masterful or domineering temper, so. common among social 
mammals, is the cause of the persecution of the sick and weakly. 
When an animal begins to ail he can no longer hold his own; he ceases 
to resent the occasional ill-natured attacks made on him; his non- 


t Adapted from William H. Hudson, “The Strange Instincts of Cattle,” 
Longman’s Magazine, XVIII (1891), 393-94. 


CONFLICT 605 


combative condition is quickly discovered, and he at once drops down 
to a place below the lowest; it is common knowledge in the herd that 
he may be buffeted with impunity by all, even by those that have 
hitherto suffered buffets but have given none. But judging from my 
own observation, this persecution is not, as a rule, severe, and is 
seldom fatal. 


2. The Rivalry of Social Groups' 


Conflict, competition, and rivalry are the chief causes which force 
human beings into groups and largely determine what goes on within 
them. Conflicts, like wars, revolutions, riots, still persist, but 
possibly they may be thought of as gradually yielding to competitions 
which are chiefly economic. Many of these strivings seem almost 
wholly individual, but most of them on careful analysis turn out to 
be intimately related to group competition. A third form, rivalry, 
describes struggle for status, for social prestige, for the approval of 
inclusive publics which form the spectators for such contests. ‘The 
nation is an arena of competition and rivalry. 

Much of this emulation is of a concealed sort. Beneath the union 
services of churches there is an element, for the most part uncon- 
scious, of rivalry to secure the approval of a public which in these 
days demands brotherliness and good will rather than proselyting 
and polemics. Many public subscriptions for a common cause are 
based upon group rivalry or upon individual competition which is 
group-determined. The Rhodes scholarships are in one sense a 
means of furthering imperial interest. Christmas presents lavished 
upon children often have a bearing upon the ambition of the family 
to make an impression upon rival domestic groups. In the liberal 
policy of universities which by adding to the list of admission subjects 
desire to come into closer relations with the public schools, there is 
some trace of competition for students and popular applause. The 
interest which nations manifest in the Hague Tribunal is tinged with 
a desire to gain the good will of the international, peace-praising 
public. ‘The professed eagerness of one or both parties in a labor 
‘dispute to have the differences settled by arbitration is a form of 
competition for the favor of the onlooking community. Thus in 


* Adapted from George E. Vincent, “The Rivalry of Social Groups,” in the 
American Journal of Sociology, XVI (1910 11), 471-84. 


606 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


international relationships and in the life-process of each nation count- 
less groups are in conflict, competition, or rivalry. 

This idea of the group seeking survival, mastery, aggrandizement, 
prestige, in its struggles with other groups is a valuable means of 
interpretation. Let us survey rapidly the conditions of success as a 
group carries on its life of strife and emulation. In order to survive 
or to succeed the group must organize, cozen, discipline, and stimulate 
its members. Fortunately it finds human nature in a great measure 
fashioned for control. 

Collective pride or group egotism is an essential source of strength 
in conflict. Every efficient group cultivates this sense of honor, 
importance, superiority, by many devices of symbol, phrase, and 
legend, as well as by scorn and ridicule of rivals. The college 
fraternity’s sublime self-esteem gives it strength in its competition 
for members and prestige. There is a chauvinism of “boom”’ towns 
and religious sects, as well as of nations. What pride and self- 
confidence are to the individual, ethnocentrism, patriotism, local 
loyalty are to social unities. Diffidence, humility, self-distrust, toler- 
ance, are as dangerous to militant groups as to fighting men. 

Then too the group works out types of personality, hero types to 
be emulated, traitor types to be execrated. ‘These personality types 
merge into abstract ideals and standards. ‘“‘Booster” and “‘knocker”’ 
bring up pictures of a struggling community which must preserve its 
hopefulness and self-esteem at all hazards. “Statesman” and “dema- 
gogue”’ recall the problem of selection which every self-governing 
community must face. ‘‘Defender of the faith” and ‘‘heretic” are 
eloquent of the Church’s dilemma between rigid orthodoxy and 
flexible accommodation to a changing order. 

With a shifting in the conflict or rivalry crises, types change in 
value or emphasis, or new types are created in adjustment to the 
new needs. The United Stated at war with Spain sought martial 
heroes. ‘The economic and political ideals of personality, the cap- 
tains of industry, the fascinating financiers, the party idols, were for 
the time retired to make way for generals and admirals, soldiers and 
sailors, the heroes of camp and battleship. ‘The war once over, the 
displaced types reappeared along with others which are being created 
to meet new administrative, economic, and ethical problems. The 
competing church retires its militant and disputatious leaders in an 


CONFLICT 607 


age which gives its applause to apostles of concord, fraternal feeling, 
and co-operation. Ata given time the heroes and traitors of a group 
reflect its competitions and rivalries with other groups. 

Struggle forces upon the group the necessity of cozening, be- 
guiling, managing its members. The vast majority of these fall into 
a broad zone of mediocrity which embodies group character and 
represents a general adjustment to life-conditions. From this 
medial area individuals vary, some in ways which aid the group in 
its competition, others in a fashion which imperils group success. 
It is the task of the group both to preserve the solidarity of the 
medial zone and to discriminate between the serviceable and 
the menacing variants. The latter must be coerced or sup- 
pressed, the former encouraged and given opportunity. In Plato’s 
Republic the guardians did this work of selection which in modern 
groups is cared for by processes which seem only slightly conscious 
and purposeful. 

The competing group in seeking to insure acquiescence and loyalty 
elaborates a protective philosophy by which it creates within its 
members the belief that their lot is much to be preferred to that of 
other comradeships and associations. Western Americans take 
satisfaction in living in a free, progressive, hospitable way in “‘God’s 
country.” They try not to be pharisaical about the narrowness of 
the East, but they achieve a sincere scorn for the hidebound con- 
ventions of an effete society. Easterners in turn count themselves 
fortunate in having a highly developed civilization, and they usually 
attain real pity for those who seem to live upon a psychic, if not a 
geographic, frontier. The middle class have a philosophy with 
which they protect themselves against the insidious suggestions that 
come from the life of the conspicuous rich. ‘These, on the other hand, 
half suspecting that simplicity and domesticity may have some 
virtue, speak superciliously of middle-class smugness and the bourgeois 
“home.” The less prosperous of the professional classes are prone 
to lay a good deal of stress upon their intellectual resources as com- 
pared with the presumptive spiritual poverty of the affluent. Country 
’ folk encourage themselves by asserting their fundamental value to 
society and by extolling their own simple straightforward virtues, 
which present so marked a contrast to the devious machinations of 
city-dwellers. Booker Washington’s reiterated assertion that if he 


608 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


were to be born again he would choose to be a Negro because the Negro 
race is the only one which has a great problem contains a suggestion 
of this protective philosophy. ‘This tendency of a group to fortify 
itself by a satisfying theory of its lot is obviously related to group 
egotism and is immediately connected with group rivalry. 

The competing group derides many a dissenter into conformity. 
This derision may be spontaneous, or reflective and concerted. The 
loud guffaw which greets one who varies in dress or speech or idea 
may come instantly or there may be a planned and co-operative 
ridicule systematically applied to the recalcitrant. Derision is one 
of the most effective devices by which the group sifts and tests the 
variants. 

Upon the small number of rebels who turn a deaf ear to epithets, 
ostracism is brought to bear. This may vary from the “cold shoul- 
der” to the complete ‘‘boycott.”” Losing the friendship and approval 
of comrades, being cut off from social sympathy, is a familiar form of 
group pressure. Ridicule and derision are a kind of evanescent 
ostracism, a temporary exclusion from the comradeship. ‘There are 
many degrees in the lowering of the social temperature: coolness, 
formality of intercourse, averted looks, “cutting dead,” ‘‘sending to 
Coventry,’ form a progressive series. Economic pressure is more 
and more a resort of modern groups. Loss of employment, trade, 
or professional practice brings many a rebel to time. All coercion 
obviously increases as the group is hard pressed in its conflicts, com- 
petitions, and rivalries. Ny : 

These crises and conflicts of a competing group present problems 
which must be solved-—problems of organization, of inventions of 
many kinds, of new ideas and philosophies, of methods of adjustment. 
The conditions of competition or rivalry upset an equilibrium of 
habit and custom, and a process of problem-solving ensues. A typhoid 
epidemic forces the village to protect itself against the competition 
of a more healthful rival. The resourceful labor union facing a cor- 
poration which offers profit-sharing and retiring allowances must 
formulate a protective theory and practice. A society clique too 
closely imitated by a lower stratum must regain its distinction and 
supremacy. A nation must be constantly alert to adjust itself to the 
changing conditions of international trade and to the war equipment 
and training of its rivals. 


CONFLICT 639 


The theory of group rivalry throws light upon the individual. 
The person has as many selves as there are groups to which he be- 
longs. He is simple or complex as his groups are few and harmonious 
or many and conflicting. What skilful management is required to 
keep business and moral selves from looking each other in the eye, 
to prevent scientific and theological selves from falling into dis- 
cussion! Most men of many groups learn, like tactful hosts, to invite 
at a given time only congenial companies of selves. A few brave 
souls resolve to set their house in order and to entertain only such 
selves as can live together with good will and mutual respect. With 
these earnest folk their groups have to reckon. The conflicts of 
conscience are group conflicts. 

Tolerance is a sign that once vital issues within the group are 
losing their significance, or that the group feels secure, or that it is 
slowly, even unconsciously, merging into a wider grouping. ‘Theo- 
logical liberality affords a case in point. In the earlier days of sec- 
tarian struggle tolerance was a danger both to group loyalty and to 
the militant spirit. Cynicism for other reasons is also a menace. 
It means loss of faith in the collective ego, in the traditions, shib- 
boleths, symbols, and destiny of the group. Fighting groups cannot 
be tolerant; nor can they harbor cynics. ‘Tolerance and cynicism 
are at once causes and results of group decay. They portend dis- 
solution or they foreshadow new groupings for struggle over other 
issues on another plane. Evangelical churches are drawing together 
with mutual tolerance to present a united front against modern 
skepticism and cynicism which are directed against the older faiths 
and moralities. 

The subjective side of group rivalry offers an important study. 
The reflection of the process of control in personal consciousness is 
full of interest. The means by which the rebellious variant protects 
himself against the coercion of his comrades have been already sug- 
gested in the description of ridicule and epithet. These protective 
methods resolve themselves into setting one group against another 

in the mind of the derided or stigmatized individual. 
A national group is to be thought of as an inclusive unity with a 
fundamental character, upon the basis of which a multitude of groups 
compete with and rival each other. It is the task of the nation to 
control and to utilize this group struggle, to keep it on as high a 


610 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


4 

ee as possible, to turn it to the common account. Government 
gets its chief meaning from the rivalry of groups to grasp political 
power in their own interests. Aristocracy and democracy may be 
interpreted in terms of group antagonism, the specialized few versus 
the undifferentiated many. The ideal merges the two elements of 
efficiency and solidarity in one larger group within which mutual 
confidence and emulation take the place of conflict. Just as persons» 
must be disciplined into serving their groups, groups must be sub- 
ordinated to the welfare of the nation. It is in conflict or competi- 
tion with other nations that a country becomes a vivid unity to the 
members of constituent groups. It is rivalry which brings out the 
sense of team work, the social consciousness. es 

0 


3. The Gang and Political Organizati 


The importance of the gang as a social factor which the politician 
manipulates has never been fully appreciated except by the politician. 
It is a sufficiently commonplace trait of human nature for people 
to associate themselves together in groups and cliques, according to the 
attractions of congeniality. This force, however, seems to work with 
great intensity in the tenement-house districts. Without pausing 
to inquire the reasons, I shall describe the structure of the gang, and 
later show its relation to ward politics. 

The tendency begins among the children. Almost every boy 
in the tenement-house quarters of the district is member of a gang. 
The boy who does not belong to one is not only the exception, but the 
very rare exception. ‘There are certain characteristics in the make-up 
and life of all gangs. To begin with, every gang has a “corner” 
where its members meet. This ‘“‘hang out,” as it is sometimes 
called, may be in the centre of a block, but still the gang speak of it 
as the “corner.” The size of a gang varies: it may number five or 
forty. Asa rule, all the boys composing it come from the immediate 
waermmtty. of. the comer... . ta 

Nightly after supper the see drift_to their “corner,” not By 
appointment, but natura , dle talk, “‘jawing matches,” 
as one boy expressed horse-play. No eccentric 












*From “The Roots of 
Study edited by Robert A, 
Boston, 1898. Author’s copyrig 


ity Wilderness, a Settlement 
ehton, Mifflin & Company, 


CONFLICT O11 


individual gets by the gang without insult. Nearly every gang has 
“talent”: one or two members who can sing, perhaps a quartette; 
also a buck-dancer, one or two who can play on the jew’s-harp, and a 
“funny man.” I am referring now more particularly to boys over 
fourteen years old. As a rule, the boys stay around their corner, 
finding amusement in these ways. The songs are always new ones; 
old ones are scorned. Not infrequently the singing, the horse-play, 
or the dancing is interrupted by the roundsman. At the sight of the 
brass buttons, there is an excited call of “cheese it,” and singing or 
talking, as it may be, is suddenly stopped; the gang disbands, dissolves, 
and the boys flee down alleyways, into doorsteps and curious hiding- 
places, and reappear only when the ‘‘cop”’ is well down the street. 

It sometimes happens that members of the gang are arrested, for 
standing on the corners, for insulting passers-by, or for some other 
offense. Asa rule, the other fellows raise the money to pay the fine. 
To reimburse themselves or the one who loaned the money, a dance 
is “run” or a raffle is held. To show still further the tenaciousness 
of gang life: the influx of Jews has caused many of the Irish to move 
away from the South End to other parts of the city, but the boys on 
Sunday may be found with the gang at their corner. About thirty 
young men belonging to one of the gangs I know meet every Sunday 
afternoon at their corner. Of this number, fully half are fellows 
who live in the Highlands, at the edge of Roxbury. I know a boy 
in the High School—he will graduate next year—who moved to 
Dorchester, but comes regularly to the old corner on Sunday afternoon. 
No new friends can supplant the gang. It is little wonder. The life 
of the gang is exciting, melodramatic; the corner is full of associations, 
of jokes and songs and good times, of escapades planned and carried 
out. In comparison with this, the life of the suburb is tame. 

It is interesting to know what becomes of these various gangs 
when the boys get to be seventeen or eighteen years old. The more 
respectable gangs, as a rule, club together and hirea room. The more 
vicious gangs prefer to use what little money they have in carousing. 
. If by any chance they get a room, their rowdyism will cause their 
ejection either by the landlord or by the police. Consequently they 
have to fall back on the corner or some saloon, as their meeting-place. 
They nearly always seek a back street or the wharves, unfrequented 
by the police... .. 


O12 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


At this point, it is necessary to give some account of the young 
men’s clubs, in order that the important part that these clubs play in 
ward politics may be seen; for all this network of social life is taken 
in hand by the politician. As J said before, the gangs which coalesce 
and form these clubs are the most respectable ones. They are led 
to do this partly through a desire to have a warm room, and partly 
because they are tired of standing on the corner and meeting the 
rebuffs of the policeman. ‘Then such a club opens up the freedom 
of the district, socially, to them. .... 

Nearly all of the clubs have a common programme. In the first 
place, each club, without any exception, gives a ball each winter in 
some large hall. The tickets invariably sell for fifty cents. These 
balls are important social functions in the district. As a rule, they 
are well managed financially, one club clearing $165 last winter. 
Then besides this annual ball, each club has a “social” once a week. 
This is a dance of a lower type than the balls, being interspersed with 
comic songs, humorous recitations, and buck-dancing. About the 
same class of girls attend all the socials; they go from one club to the 
other. Almost without exception they are factory girls, and nearly 
all of them are bold and vulgar. It is a curious fact that the members 
do not want their sisters to attend these dances; and their custom is 
to leave the girls with whom they have danced before they reach 
thebsigeete ys’... 

Another feature of these clubs is the smoke talks. They are 
always held on holidays, and sometimes on Sundays. Several barrels 
of beer are on tap; and tonic is ordered for abstainers, but they are 
few. The smoke talk usually begins in the afternoon, and lasts as 
iong as the beer does. When the end comes, those who are sober 
are in the minority. For entertainment there are comic songs and 
buck-dances, but the principal feature is the story-telling. .... 

The worst dance halls are very nearly allied to the clubs, for all 
the halls have their special clientage. ‘This clientage, like the club, 
is made up, though not so distinctly, of gangs. Consequently at 
nearly all the halls, the dancers are known to one another, and have 
more or less loyalty for the hall... .. 

In addition to these sociai groups which taken on a political 
character at election time, there are usually in the tenement-house 
sections several distinctly political clubs. Standing at the head of 


CONFLICT 613 


these clubs is the ‘‘machine club.” It is now quite the custom of 
those in control of the party, and known as the “machine,” to have 
such an organization. All the men in the ward having good political 
jobs are members. In one local club it is estimated that the City 
employees belonging to it draw salaries to the amount of $30,000 per 
year; in another club, outside the district, $80,c0o0. It is natural 
that all the men in these clubs are anxious to maintain the machine. 
It is a question of bread and butter with them. In addition to City 
employees the various machine workers are enrolled. The room of 
the club is ordinarily very pleasant. There are, of course, in these 
clubs the usual social attractions, among other things poker and 
drinking. At the head of the club stands the boss of the ward. 


4. Cultural Conflicts and the Organization of Sects’ 


It is assumed, I suppose, that contradictions among ideas and 
beliefs are of various degrees and of various modes besides that 
specific one which we cali logical incompatibility. A perception, for 
example, may be pictorially inconsistent or tonically discordant with 
another perception; a mere faith unsupported by objective evidence 
may be emotionally antagonistic to another mere faith, as truly as 
a judgment may be logically irreconcilable with another judgment. 
And this wide possibility of contradiction is particularly to be rec- 
ognized when the differing ideas or beliefs have arisen not within the 
same individual mind but in different minds, and are therefore 
colored by personal or partisan interest and warped by idiosyncrasy 
of mental constitution. The contradictions of, or rather among, 
ideas and beliefs, with which we are now concerned, are more extensive 
and more varied than mere logical duels; they are also less definite, 
less precise. In reality they are culture conflicts in which the oppos- 
ing forces, so far from being specific ideas only or pristine beliefs only, 
are in fact more or less bewildering complexes of ideas, beliefs, preju- 
dices, sympathies; antipathies, and personal interests. 

It is assumed also, I suppose, that any idea or group of ideas, 
any belief or group of beliefs, may happen to be or may become a 
’ common interest, shared by a small or a large number of individuals. 
* Adapted from Franklin H. Giddings, “Are Contradictions of Ideas and 


Beliefs Likely to Play an Important Group-making Role in the Future?” in the 
American Journal of Sociology, XIII (1907-8), 784--o1. 





614 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It may draw and hold them together in bonds of acquaintance, of 
association, even of co-operation. It thus may play a group-making 
role. Contradictory ideas or beliefs, therefore, may play a group- 
making réle in a double sense. Each draws into association the indi- 
vidual minds that entertain it or find it attractive. Each also repels 
those minds to whom it is repugnant, and drives them toward the 
group which is being formed about the contradictory idea or belief. 
Contradictions among ideas and beliefs, then, it may be assumed, 
tend on the whole to sharpen the lines of demarcation between 
group and group. 

These assumptions are, I suppose, so fully justified by the every- 
day observation of mankind and so confirmed by history that it is 
unnecessary now to discuss them or in any way to dwell upon them. 
‘The question before us therefore becomes specific: ‘‘Are contradic- 
tions among ideas and beliefs likely to play an imbortant group- 
making role in the future?” I shall interpret the word important 
as connoting quality as well as quantity. I shall, in fact, attempt to 
answer the question set for me by translating it into this inquiry, 
namely: What kind or type of groups are the inevitable contradic- 
tions among ideas and beliefs most likely to create and to maintain 
within the progressive populations of the world from this time forth ? 

Somewhat more than three hundred years ago, Protestantism 
and geographical discovery had combined to create conditions extraor- 
dinarily favorable to the formation of groups or associations about 
various conflicting ideas and beliefs functioning as nuclei; and for 
nearly three hundred years the world has been observing a remarkable 
multiplication of culture groups of two fundamentally different types. 
One type is a sect, or denomination, having no restricted local habita- 
tion but winning adherents here and there in various communes, 
provinces, or nations, and having, therefore, a membership either 
locally concentrated or more or less widely dispersed; either regularly 
or most irregularly distributed. The culture group of the other type, 
or kind, is a self-sufficing community. It may be a village, a colony, 
a state, or a nation. Its membership is concentrated, its habitat is 
defined. 

To a very great extent, as everybody knows, American coloniza- 
tion proceeded through the formation of religious communities. 
Such were the Pilgrim and the Puritan commonwealths. Such were 


CONFLICT 615 


the Quaker groups of Rhode Island and Pennsylvania. Such were 
the localized societies of the Dunkards, the Moravians, and the 
Mennonites. 

As late as the middle of the nineteenth century the American 
people witnessed the birth and growth of one of the most remarkable 
religious communities known in history. The Mormon community 
of Utah, which, originating in 1830 as a band of relatives and 
acquaintances, clustered by an idea that quickly became a dogma, 
had become in fifty years a commonwealth de facto, defying the 
authority de jure of the United States. 

We are not likely, however, again to witness a phenomenon of 
this kind in the civilized world. Recently we have seen the rise and 
the astonishingly rapid spread of another American religion, namely, 
the Christian Science faith. But it has created no community 
group. It has created only a dispersed sect. It is obvious to any 
intelligent observer, however untrained in sociological discrimination 
he may be, that the forces of Protestantism, still dividing and.dif- 
ferentiating as they are, no longer to any great extent create new 
self-sufficing communities. ‘They create only associations of irregular 
geographical dispersion, of more or less unstable or shifting member- 
ship. In a word, the conflicting-idea forces, which in our colonial 
days tended to create community groups as well as sects, tend now to 
create sectarian bodies only—mere denominational or partisan 
associations. 

A similar contrast between an earlier and a later stage of culture 
group-making may be observed if we go back to centuries before the 
Protestant Reformation, there to survey a wider field and a longer 
series of historical periods. 

It is a commonplace of historical knowledge that in all of the 
earliest civilizations there was an approximate identification of 
religion with ethnic consciousness and of political consciousness with 
both religious and race feeling. Each people had its own tribal or 
national gods, who were inventoried as national assets at valuations 
quite as high as those attached to tribal or national territory. 

When, however, Roman imperial rule had been extended over 
the civilized world, the culture conflicts that then arose expended 
their group-creating force in simply bringing together like believers 
in sectarian association. Christianity, appealing to all bloods, in 


616 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


some measure to all economic classes, and spreading into all sections 
of the eastern Mediterranean region, did not to any great extent 
create communities. And what was true of Christianity was in like 
manner true of the Mithras cult, widely diffused in the second Chris- 
tian century. Even Mohammedanism, a faith seemingly well cal- 
culated to create autonomous states, in contact with a world prepared 
by Roman organization could not completely identify itself with 
definite political boundaries. 

The proximate causes of these contrasts are not obscure. We 
must suppose that a self-sufficing community might at one time, as 
well as at another, be drawn together by formative beliefs. But 
that it may take root somewhere and, by protecting itself against 
destructive external influences, succeed for a relatively long time 
in maintaining its integrity and its solidarity, it must enjoy a relative 
isolation. In a literal sense it must be beyond easy reach of those 
antagonistic forces which constitute for it the outer world of unbelief 
and darkness. 

Such isolation is easily and often possible, however, only in the 
early stages of political integration. It is always difficult and un- 
usual in those advanced stages wherein nations are combined in world- 
empires. It is becoming well-nigh impossible, now that all the 
continents have been brought under the sovereignty of the so-called 
civilized peoples, while these peoples themselves, freely communicat- 
ing and intermingling, maintain with one another that good under- 
standing which constitutes them, in a certain broad sense of the 
term, a world-society. ‘The proximate effects also of the contrast 
that has been sketched are generally recognized. 

So long as blood sympathy, religious faith, and political con- 
sciousness are approximately coterminous, the groups that they 
form, whether local communities or nations, must necessarily be rather 
sharply delimited. They must be characterized also by internal 
solidarity. ‘Their membership is stable because to break the bond of 
blood is not only to make one’s self an outcast but is also to be unfaith- 
ful to the ancestral gods; to change one’s religion is not only to be 
impious but is also to commit treason; to expatriate one’s self is not 
only to commit treason but is also to blaspheme against high heaven. 

But when associations of believers or of persons holding in 
common any philosophy or doctrine whatsoever are no longer 


CONFLICT 617 


self-sufficing communities, and when nations composite in blood have 
become compound in structure, all social groups, clusters, or organi- 
zations, not only the cultural ones drawn together by formative 
ideas, but also the economic and the political ones, become in some 
degree plastic. Their membership then becomes to some extent 
shifting and renewable. Under these circumstances any given 
association of men, let it be a village, a religious group, a trade union, 
a corporation, or a political party, not only takes into itself new 
members from time to time; it also permits old members to depart. 
Men come and men go, yet the association or the group itself persists. 
As group or as organization it remains unimpaired. 

The economic advantage secured by this plasticity and renew- 
ableness is beyond calculation enormous. It permits and facilitates 
the drafting of men at any moment from points where they are least 
needed, for concentration upon points where they are needed most. 
The spiritual or idealistic advantage is not less great. The con- 
centration of attention and of enthusiasm upon strategic points gives 
ever-increasing impetus to progressive movements. 

Let us turn now from these merely proximate causes and effects 
of group formation to take note of certain developmental processes 
which lie farther back in the evolutionary sequence and which also 
have significance for our inquiry, since, when we understand them, 
they may aid us in our attempt to answer the question, What kind 
of group-making is likely to be accomplished by cultural conflicts 
from this time forth ? 

The most readily perceived, because the most pictorial, of the 
conflicts arising between one belief and another are those that are 
waged between beliefs that have been localized and then through 
geographical expansion have come into competition throughout 
wide frontier areas. Of all such conflicts, that upon which the world 
has now fully entered between occidental and oriental ideas is not 
merely the most extensive; it is also by far the most interesting and 
picturesque. 

Less picturesque but often more dramatic are the conflicts that 
arise within each geographical region, within each nation, between 
old beliefs and new—the conflicts of sequent, in distinction from 
coexistent, ideas; the conflicts in time, in distinction from the con- 
flicts in space. A new knowledge is attained which compels us-to 


618 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


question old dogmas. A new faith arises which would displace the 
ancient traditions. As the new waxes strong in some region favor- 
able to it, it begins there, within local limits, to supersede the old. 
Only then, when the conflict between the old as old and the new as 
new is practically over, does the triumphant new begin to go forth 
spatially as a conquering influence from the home of its youth into 
regions outlying and remote. 

Whatever the form, however, that the culture conflict assumes, 
whether serial and dramatic or geographical and picturesque, its 
antecedent psychological conditions are in certain great essentials 
the same. Men array themselves in hostile camps on questions of 
theory and belief, not merely because they are variously and con- 
flictingly informed, but far more because they are mentally unlike, 
their minds having been prepared by structural differentiation to 
seize upon different views and to cherish opposing convictions. ‘That 
is to say, some minds have become rational, critical, plastic, open, 
outlooking, above all, intuitive of objective facts and relations. Others 
in their fundamental constitution have remained dogmatic, intuitive 
only of personal attitudes or of subjective moods, temperamentally 
conservative and instinctive. Minds of the one kind welcome the 
new and wider knowledge; they go forth to embrace it. Minds of 
the other kind resist it. 

In the segregation thus arising, there is usually discoverable a 
certain tendency toward grouping by sex. 

Whether the mental and moral traits of women are inherent and 
therefore permanent, or whether they are but passing effects of cir- 
cumscribed experience and therefore possibly destined to be modified, 
is immaterial for my present purpose. It is not certain that either 
the biologist or the psychologist is prepared to answer the question. 
It is certain that the sociologist is not. It is enough for the analysis 
that I am making now if we can say that, as a merely descriptive 
fact, women thus far in the history of the race have generally been 
more instinctive, more intuitive of subjective states, more emotional, 
more conservative than men; and that men, more generally than 
women, have been intuitive of objective relations, inclined therefore 
to break with instinct and to rely on the later-developed reasoning 
processes of the brain, and willing, consequently, to take chances, to 
experiment, and to innovate. 





CONFLICT 619 


If so much be granted, we may perhaps say that it is because of 
these mental differences that in conflicts between new and old ideas, 
between new knowledge and old traditions, it usually happens that 
a large majority of all women are found in the camp of the old, and 
that the camp of the new is composed mainly of men. 

In the camp of the new, however, are always to be found women 
of alert intelligence, who happen also to be temperamentally radical; 
women in whom the reasoning habit has asserted sway over instinct, 
and in whom intuition has become the true scientific power to 
discern objective relations. And in the camp of the old, together with 
a majority of all women, are to be found most of the men of con- 
servative instinct, and most of those also whose intuitive and reason- 
ing powers are unequal to the effort of thinking about the world or 
anything in it in terms of impersonal causation. Associated with all 
of these elements, both male and female, may usually be discovered, 
finally, a contingent of priestly personalities; not necessarily religious 
priests, but men who love to assert spiritual dominion, to wield author- 
ity, to be reverenced and obeyed, and who naturally look for a 
following among the non-skeptical and easily impressed. 

Such, very broadly and rudely sketched, is the psychological 
background of culture conflict. It is, however, a background only, 
a certain persistent grouping of forces and conditions; it is not the 
cause from which culture conflicts proceed. 


; D. RACIAL CONFLICTS 
1. Social Contacts and Race Conflict? ted 
ent time, 


There is a conviction, widespread in America at the pres 
that among the most fruitful sources of international wars are racial 
prejudice and national egotism. ‘This conviction is the nerve of n 









the Japanese and America. This book, The Jap 
Jesse F. Steiner, is an attempt to study this pl of race 
prejudice and national egotism, so far as it reve al lf in the rela- 
tions of the Japanese and the Americans in this country, and to esti- 

t From Robert E. Park, Introduction to Jesse F. Steiner, T/ 
(A. C. McClurg & Co., 1917.) | 


620 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


mate the réle it is likely to play in the future relations of the two 
countries. 

So far as I know, an investigation of precisely this nature has not 
hitherto been made. One reason for this is, perhaps, that not until 
very recent times did the problem present itself in precisely this form. 
So long as the nations lived in practical isolation, carrying on their 
intercourse through the medium of professional diplomats, and know- 
ing each other mainly through the products they exchanged, census 
reports, and the discreet observations of polite travelers, racial preju- 
dice did not disturb international relations. With the extension 
of international commerce, the increase of immigration, and the 
interpenetration of peoples, the scene changes. ‘The railway, the 
steamship, and the telegraph are rapidly mobilizing the peoples of 
the earth. The nations are coming out of their isolation, and distantes 
which separated the different races.are rapidly giving way before ie 
extension of communication. 

The same human motives which have led men to spread a network 
of trade-communication over the whole earth in order to bring about 
an exchange of commodities are now bringing about a new distri- 
bution of populations. When these populations become as mobile 
as the commodities of commerce, there will be practically no limits— 
except those artificial barriers, like the customs and immigration 
restrictions, maintained by individual states—to a world-wide eco- 
nomic and personal competition. Furthermore when the natural 
barriers are broken down, artificial barriers will be maintained with 
increasing difficulty. 

Some conception of the extent of the changes which are taking 
place in the world under the influence of these forces may be gathered 
from the fact that in 1870 the cost of transporting a bushel of grain 
in Europe was so great as to prohibit its sale beyond a radius of two 
hundred miles from a primary market. By 1883 the importation of 
grains from the virgin soil of the western prairies in the United States 
had brought about an agricultural crisis in every country in western 
Europe. f 
One may illustrate, but it is scarcely possible to estimate, the 
. economic changes which have been brought about by the enormous 
increase in ocean transportation. In 1840 the first Cunard liner, of 


740 horse-power with a speed of 8.5 knots per hour, was launched. — 


Sd 


eR 





CONFLICT 621 


In 1907, when the Lusitania was built, ocean-going vessels had 
attained a speed of 25 knots an hour and were drawn by engines of 
70,000 horse-power. 

It is difficult to estimate the economic changes which have been 
brought about by the changes in ocean transportation represented 
by these figures. It is still less possible to predict the political 
effects of the steadily increasing mobility of the peoples of the earth. 
At the present time this mobility has already reached a point at which 
it is often easier and cheaper to transport the world’s population to 
- the source of raw materials than to carry the world’s manufactures 
to the established seats of population. 

With the progressive rapidity, ease, and security of transportation, 
and the increase in communication, there follows an increasing detach- 
ment of the population from the soil and a concurrent concentration 
in great cities. ‘These cities in time become the centers of vast num- 
bers of uprooted individuals, casual and seasonal laborers, tenement 
and apartment-house dwellers, sophisticated and emancipated 
urbanites, who are bound together neither by local attachment nor 
by ties of family, clan, religion, or nationality. Under such conditions 
it is reasonable to expect that the same economic motive which leads 
every trader to sell in the highest market and to buy in the lowest 
will steadily increase and intensify the tendency, which has already 
reached enormous proportions of the population in overcrowded 
regions with diminished resources, to seek their fortunes, either 
permanently or temporarily, in the new countries of undeveloped 
resources. 

Already the extension of commerce and the increase of immigration 
have brought about an international and inter-racial situation that 
has strained the inherited political order of the United States. It is 
this same expansive movement of population and of commerce, 
together with the racial and national rivalries that have sprung 
from them, which first destroyed the traditional balance of power in 
Europe and then broke up the scheme of international control which 
rested on it. Whatever may’ have been the immediate causes of the 
’ world-war, the more remote sources of the conflict must undoubtedly 
be sought in the great cosmic forces which have broken down the 
barriers which formerly separated the races and nationalities of the 


622 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


world, and forced them into new intimacies and new forms of 
competition, rivalry, and conflict. 

Since 1870 the conditions which I have attempted to sketch have 
steadily forced upon America and the nations of Europe the problem 
of assimilating their heterogeneous populations. What we call the 
race problem is at once an incident of this process of assimilation and 
an evidence of its failure. 

The present volume, The Japanese Invasion: A Study in the 
Psychology of Inter-racial Contact, touches but does not deal with the 
general situation which I have briefly sketched. It is, as its title 
suggests, a study in “racial contacts,” and is an attempt to distinguish 
and trace to their sources the attitudes and the sentiments—that is 
to say, mutual prejudices—which have been and still are a source 
of mutual irritation and misunderstanding between the Japanese 
and American peoples. 

Fundamentally, prejudice against the Japanese in the United 
States is merely the prejudice which attaches to every alien and 
immigrant people. The immigrant from Europe, like the immigrant 
from Asia, comes to this country because he finds here a freedom of 
individual action and an economic opportunity which he did not find 
at home. It is an instance of the general tendency of populations to 
move from an area of relatively closed, to one of relatively open, 
resources. ‘The movement is as inevitable and, in the long run, as 
resistless as that which draws water from its mountain sources to the 
sea. It is one way of redressing the economic balance and bringing 
about an economic equilibrium. 

The very circumstances under which this modern movement 
of population has arisen implies then that the standard of living, if 
not the cultural level, of the immigrant is lower than that of the native 
population, ‘The consequence is that immigration brings with it a 
new and disturbing form of competition, the competition, namely, 
of peoples of a lower and of a higher standard of living. The effect 
of this competition, where it is free and unrestricted, is either to lower 
the living standards of the native population; to expel them from the 
vocations in which the immigrants are able or permitted to compete; 
or what may, perhaps, be regarded as a more sinister consequence, 
to induce such a restriction of the birth rate of the native population 


CONFLICT 623 


as to insure its ultimate extinction. The latter is, in fact, what seems 
to be happening in the New England manufacturing towns where the 
birth rate in the native population for some years past has fallen below 
the death rate, so that the native stock has long since ceased to repro- 
duce itself. The foreign peoples, on the other hand, are rapidly 
replacing the native stocks, not merely by the influence of new 
immigration, but because of a relatively high excess of births over 
deaths. 

It has been assumed that the prejudice which blinds the people 
of one race to the virtues of another and leads them to exaggerate 
that other’s faults is in the nature of a misunderstanding which 
further knowledge will dispel. This is so far from true that it would 
be more exact to say that our racial misunderstandings are merely 
the expression of our racial antipathies. Behind these antipathies 
are deep-seated, vital, and instinctive impulses. Racial antipathies 
represent the collision of invisible forces, the clash of interests, dimly 
felt but not yet clearly perceived. They are present in every situa- 
tion where the fundamental interests of races and peoples are not yet 
regulated by some law, custom, or any other modus vivendi which 
commands the assent and the mutual support of both parties. We 
hate people because we fear them, because our interests, as we under- 
stand them at any rate, run counter to theirs. On the other hand, 
good will is founded in the long run upon co-operation. ‘The extension 
of our so-called altruistic sentiments is made possible only by the 
organization of our otherwise conflicting interests and by the extension 
of the machinery of co-operation and social control. 

Race prejudice may be regarded as a spontaneous, more or less 
instinctive, defense-reaction, the practical effect of which is to restrict 
free competition between races. Its importance as a social function 
is due to the fact that free competition, particularly between people 
with different standards of living, seems to be, if not the original 
source, at least the stimulus to which race prejudice is the response. 

From this point of view we may regard caste, or even slavery, 
as one of those accommodations through which the race problem 
’ found a natural solution. Caste, by relegating the subject race to 
an inferior status, gives to each race at any rate a monopoly of its own 
tasks. When this status is accepted by the subject people, as is the 
case where the caste or slavery systems become fully established, 


624 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY . 


racial competition ceases and racial animosity tends to disappear. 
That is the explanation of the intimate and friendly relations which 
so often existed in slavery between master and servant. It is for 
this reason that we hear it said today that the Negro is all right in 
his place. In his place he is a convenience and not a competitor. 
Each race being in its place, no obstacle to racial co-operation exists. 

The fact that race prejudice is due to, or is in some sense dependent 
upon, race competition is further manifest by a fact that Mr. Steiner 
has emphasized, namely, that prejudice against the Japanese is 
nowhere uniform throughout the United States. It is only where the 
Japanese are present in sufficient numbers to actually disturb the 
economic status of the white population that prejudice has manifested 
itself to such a degree as to demand serious consideration. It is an 
interesting fact also that prejudice against the Japanese is now more 
intense than it is against any other oriental people. The reason for 
this, as Mr. Steiner has pointed out, is that the Japanese are more 
aggressive, more disposed to test the sincerity of that statement of 
the Declaration of Independence which declares that all men are 
equally entitled to ‘“‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” —a 
statement, by the way, which was merely a forensic assertion of the 
laissez faire doctrine of free and unrestricted competition as applied 
to the relations of individual men. 

The Japanese, the Chinese, they too would be all right in their 
place, no doubt. ‘That place, if they find it, will be one in which they 
do not greatly intensify and so embitter the struggle for existence of 
the whiteman. The difficulty is that the Japanese is still less disposed 
than the Negro or the Chinese to submit to the regulations of a caste 
system and to stay in his place. The Japanese are an organized and 
morally efficient nation. They have the national pride and the 
national egotism which rests on the consciousness of this efficiency. 
In fact, it is not too much to say that national egotism, if one pleases 
to call it such, is essential to national. efficiency, just as a certain 
irascibility of temper seems to be essential to a good fighter. 

Another difficulty is that caste and the limitation of free competi- 
tion is economically unsound, even though it be politically desirable. 
A national policy of national efficiency demands that every individuai 
have not merely the opportunity but the preparation necessary to 
perform that particular service for the community for which his 


(ry * 


CONFLICT 625 


natural disposition and aptitude fit him, irrespective of race or 
“previous condition.”’ 

Finally, caste and the limitation of economic opportunity is 
contrary, if not to our traditions, at least to our political principles. 
That means that there will always be an active minority opposed to 
any settlement based on the caste system as applied to either the 
black or the brown races, on grounds of political sentiment. This 
minority will be small in parts of the country immediately adversely 
affected by the competition of the invading race. It will be larger in 
regions which are not greatly affected. It will be increased if immigra- 
tion is so rapid as to make the competition more acute. We must 
look to other measures for the solution of the Japanese problem, if it 
should prove true, as seems probable, that we are not able or, for 
various reasons, do not care permanently to hold back the rising tide 
of the oriental invasion. 

I have said that fundamentally and in principle prejudice against 
the Japanese in America today was identical with the prejudice 
which attaches to any immigrant people. There is, as Mr. Steiner 
has pointed out, a difference. This is due to the existence in the 
human mind of a mechanism by which we inevitably and auto-: 
matically classify every individual human being we meet. When 
a race bears an external mark by which every individual member of 
it can infallibly be identified, that race is by that fact set apart and 
segregated. Japanese, Chinese, and Negroes cannot move among us 
with the same freedom as the members of other races because they 
bear marks which identify them as members of their race. ‘This fact 
isolates them. In the end the effect of this isolation, both in its 
effects upon the Japanese themselves and upon the human environ- 
ment in which they live, is profound. Isolation is at once a cause'and 
an effect of race prejudice. It is a vicious circle—isolation, prejudice; 
prejudice, isolation. Were there no other reasons which urge us to 
consider the case of the Japanese and the oriental peoples in a category 
different from that of the European immigrant, this fact, that they 
are bound to live in the American community a more or less isolated 
life, would impel us to do so. 

In conclusion, I may perhaps say in a word what seems to me the 
practical bearing of Mr. Steiner’s book. Race prejudice is a mechan- 
ism of the group mind which acts reflexly and automatically in 


=~ % 


626 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


response to its proper stimulus. That stimulus seems to be, in the 
cases where I have met it, unrestricted competition of peoples with 
different standards of living. Racial animosities and the so-called 
racial misunderstandings that grow out of them cannot be explained 
or argued away. ‘They can only be affected when there has been a 
readjustment of relations and an organization of interests in such a 
way as to bring about a larger measure of co-operation and a lesser 
amount of friction and conflict. ‘This demands something more than 
a diplomacy of kind words. It demands a national policy based on an 
unflinching examination of the facts. 


2. Conflict and Race Consciousness! 


The Civil War weakened but did not fully destroy the modus 
vivendi which slavery had established between the slave and his 
master. With emancipation the authority which had formerly been 
exercised by the master was transferred to the state, and Wash- 
ington, D.C:, began to assume in the mind of the freedman the posi- 
tion that formerly had been occupied by the “big house” on the 
- plantation. ‘The masses of the Negro people still maintained their 
habit of dependence, however, and after the first confusion of the 
change had passed, life went on, for most of them, much as it had 
before the war. As one old farmer explained, the only difference 
he could see was that in slavery he ‘“‘ was working for old Marster and 
now he was working for himself.” 

There was one difference between slavery and freedom, never- 
theless, which was very real to the freedman. And this was the 
liberty to move. ‘To move,from one plantation to another in case 
he was discontented was one of the ways in which a freedman was 
able to realize his freedom and to make sure that he possessed it. 
This liberty to move meant a good deal more to the plantation 
Negro than one not acquainted with the situation in the South is 
likely to understand. 

If there had been an abundance of labor in the South; if the 
situation had been such that the Negro laborer was seeking the 
opportunity to work, or such that the Negro tenant farmers were 


* From Robert E. Park, “Racial Assimilation in Secondary Groups,” in Publi- 
cations of the American Sociological Society, VIII (1913), 75-82. 


ooh 





CONFLICT 627 


competing for the opportunity to get a place on the land, as is so 
frequently the case in Europe, the situation would have been funda- 
mentally different from what it actually was. But the South was, 
and is today, what Nieboer called a country of “open,” in contra- 
distinction to a country of ‘‘closed”’ resources. In other words, there 
is more land in the South than there is labor to till it. Land owners 
are driven to competing for laborers and tenants to work their 
plantations. 

Owing to his ignorance of business matters and to a long- 
established habit of submission, the Negro after emancipation was 
placed at a great disadvantage in his dealings with the white man. 
His right to move from one plantation to another became, therefore, 
the Negro tenant’s method of enforcing consideration from the 
planter. He might not dispute the planter’s accounts, because he 
was not capable of doing so, and it was unprofitable to attempt it, 
but if he felt aggrieved he could move. 

This was the significance of the exodus in some of the southern 
states which took place about 1879, when 40,000 people left the 
plantations in the Black Belts of Louisiana and Mississippi and 
went to Kansas. The masses of the colored people were dissatisfied 
with the treatment they were receiving from the planters and made 
up their minds to move to ‘“‘a free country,” as they described it. 
At the same time it was the attempt of the planter to bind the Negro 
tenant who was in debt to him to his place on the plantation that 
gave rise to the system of peonage that still exists in a mitigated 
form in the South today. 

When the Negro moved off the plantation upon which he was 
reared he severed the personal relations which bound him to his 
master’s people. It was just at this point that the two races began 
to lose touch with each other. From this time on the relations of 
the black man and white, which in slavery had been direct and 
personal, became every year, as the old associations were broken, 
more and more indirect and secondary. There lingers still the dis- 
position on the part of the white man to treat every Negro familiarly, 
and the disposition on the part of every Negro to treat every white 
man respectfully. But these are habits which are gradually dis- 
appearing. The breaking down of the instincts and habits of servi- 
tude and the acquisition by the masses of the Negro people of the 


628 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY - 


instincts and habits of freedom have proceeded slowly but steadily. 
The reason the change seems to have gone on more rapidly in some 
cases than others is explained by the fact that at the time of emanci- 
pation 10 per cent of the Negroes in the United States were already 
free, and others, those who had worked in trades, many of whom had 
hired their own time from their masters, had become more or less 
adapted to the competitive conditions of free society. 

One of the effects of the mobilization of the Negro has been to 
bring him into closer and more intimate contact with his own people. 
Common interests have drawn the blacks together, and caste senti- 
ment has kept the black and white apart. The segregation of the 
races, which began as a spontaneous movement on the part of both, 
has been fostered by the policy of the dominant race. The agitation 
of the Reconstruction period made the division between the races 
in politics absolute. Segregation and separation in other matters 
have gone on steadily ever since. The Negro at the present time 
has separate churches, schools, libraries, hospitals, Y.M.C.A. asso- 
ciations, and even separate towns. There are, perhaps, a half- 
dozen communities in the United States, every inhabitant of which 
is a Negro. Most of these so-called Negro towns are suburban 
villages; two of them, at any rate, are the centers of a considerable 
Negro farming population. In general it may be said that where 
the Negro schools, churches, and Y.M.C.A. associations are not 
separate they do not exist. 

It is hard to estimate the ultimate effect of this isolation of the 
black man. One of the most important effects has been to estab- 
lish a common interest among all the different colors and classes of 
the race. This sense of solidarity has grown up gradually with the 
organization of the Negro people. It is stronger in the South, 
where segregation is more complete, than it is in the North where, 
twenty years ago, it would have been safe to say it did not exist. 
Gradually, imperceptibly, within the larger world of the white man, 
a smaller world, the world of the black man, is silently taking form 
and shape. 

Every advance in education and intelligence puts the Negro in 
possession of the technique of communication and organization of 
the white man, and so contributes to the extension and consolidation 
of the Negro world within the white. 


CONFLICT 620 © 


The motive for this increasing solidarity is furnished by the 
increasing pressure, or perhaps I should say by the increasing sen- 
sibility of Negroes to the pressure and the prejudice without. The 
sentiment of racial loyalty, which is a comparatively recent mani- 
festation of the growing self-consciousness of the race, must be 
regarded as a response and ‘‘accommodation” to changing internal 
and external relations of the race. The sentiment which Negroes 
are beginning to call ‘‘race pride” does not exist to the same extent 
in the North as in the South, but an increasing disposition to enforce 
racial distinctions in the North, as in the South, is bringing it into 
existence. 

One or two incidents in this connection are significant. A few 
years ago a man who is the head of the largest Negro publishing 
business in this country sent to Germany- and had a number of 
Negro dolls manufactured according to specifications of his own. 
At the time this company was started, Negro children were in the 
habit of playing with white dolls. There were already Negro dolls 
on the market, but they were for white children and represented 
the white man’s conception of the Negro and not the Negro’s ideal 
of himself. The new Negro doll was a mulatto with regular 
features slightly modified in favor of the conventional Negro type. 
It was a neat, prim, well-dressed, well-behaved, self-respecting doll. 
Later on, as I understand, there were other dolls, equally tidy and 
respectable in appearance, but in darker shades, with Negro features 
a little more pronounced. The man who designed these dolls was 
perfectly clear in regard to the significance of the substitution that 
he was making. He said that he thought it was a good thing to let 
Negro girls become accustomed to dolls of their own color. He 
thought it important, as long as the races were to be segregated, 
that the dolls, which, like other forms of art, are patterns and rep- 
resent ideals, should be segregated also. 

This substitution of the Negro model for the white is a very 
interesting and a very significant fact. It means that the Negro 
has begun to fashion his own ideals and in his own image rather than 
in that of the white man. It is also interesting to know that the 
Negro doll company has been a success and that these dolls are now 
widely sold in every part of the United States. Nothing exhibits 
more clearly the extent to which the Negro had become assimilated 


630 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in slavery or the extent to which he has broken with the past in recent 
years than this episode of the Negro doll. 

The incident is typical. It is an indication of the nature of 
tendencies and of forces that are stirring in the background of the 
Negro’s mind, although they have not succeeded in forcing them- 
selves, except in special instances, into clear consciousness. 

In this same category must be reckoned the poetry of Paul 
Lawrence Dunbar, in whom, as William Dean Howells has said, the 
Negro “attained civilization.” Before Paul Lawrence Dunbar, 
Negro literature had been either apologetic or self-assertive, but 
Dunbar “studied the Negro objectively.” He represented him as 
he found him, not only without apology, but with an affectionate 
understanding and sympathy which one can have only for what is 
one’s own. In Dunbar, Negro literature attained an ethnocentric 
point of view. Through the medium of his verses the ordinary 
shapes and forms of the Negro’s life have taken on the color of his 
affections and sentiments, and we see the black man, not as he looks, 
but as he feels and is. | 

It is a significant fact that a certain number of educated—or 
rather the so-called educated—Negroes were not at first disposed 
to accept at their full value either Dunbar’s dialect verse or the 
familiar pictures of Negro life which are the symbols in which his’ 
poetry usually found expression. ‘The explanation sometimes offered 
for the dialect poems was that ‘they were made to please white 
folk.” The assumption seems to have been that if they had been 
written for Negroes it would have been impossible in his poetry to 
distinguish black people from white. This was a sentiment which 
was never shared by the masses of the people, who, upon the 
occasions when Dunbar recited to them, were fairly bowled over 
with amusement and delight because of the authenticity of the 
portraits he offered them. At the present time Dunbar is so far 
accepted as to have hundreds of imitators. 

Literature and art have played a similar and perhaps more 
important réle in the racial struggles of Europe than of America. 


One reason seems to be that racial conflicts, as they occur in second- 


ary groups, are primarily sentimental and secondarily economic. 
Literature and art, when they are employed to give expression to 
racial sentiment and form to racial ideals, serve, along with other 





CONFLICT 631 


agencies, to mobilize the group and put the masses en rapport with 
their leaders and with each other. In such cases art and literature 
are like silent drummers which summon into action the latent in- 
stincts and energies of the race. 

These struggles, I might add, in which a submerged people seek 

to rise and make for themselves a place in a world occupied by 
-superior and privileged races, are not less vital or less important 
because they are bloodless. They serve to stimulate ambitions 
and inspire ideals which years, perhaps, of subjection and subordi- 
nation have suppressed. In fact, it seems as if it were through 
conflicts of this kind, rather than through war, that the minor 
peoples were destined to gain the moral concentration and discipline 
that fit them to share, on anything like equal terms, in the conscious 
life of the civilized world. 

Until the beginning of the last century the European peasant, 
like the Negro slave, bound as he was to the soil, lived in the little 
world of direct and personal relations, under what we may call a 
domestic régime. It was military necessity that first turned the« 
attention of statesmen like Frederick the Great of Prussia to the 
welfare of the peasant. It was the overthrow of Prussia by Napo- 
leon in 1807 that brought about his final emancipation in that country. 
In recent years it has been the international struggle for economic - 
efficiency which has contributed most to mobilize the peasant and 
laboring classes in Europe. 

As the peasant slowly emerged from serfdom he found himself a 
member of a depressed class, without education, political privileges, 
or capital. It was the struggle of this class for wider opportunity 
and better conditions of life that made most of the history of the 
previous century. Among the peoples in the racial borderland the 
effect of this struggle has been, on the whole, to substitute for a 
horizontal organization of society—in which the upper strata, that 
is to say, the wealthy or privileged class, was mainly of one race and 
the poorer and subject class was mainly of another—a vertical 
organization in which all classes of each racial group were united 
under the title of their respective nationalities. Thus organized, 
the nationalities represent, on the one hand, intractable minorities 
engaged in a ruthless partisan struggle for political privilege or 
economic advantage and, on the other, they represent cultural 


632 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


groups, each struggling to maintain a sentiment of ‘oyalty to the dis- 
tinctive traditions, language, and institutions of the race they represent. 

,. This. sketch of the racial situation in Europe is, of course, the 
barest abstraction and should not be accepted realistically. It is 
intended merely as an indication of similarities, in the broader out- 
lines, of the motives that have produced nationalities in Europe and 
are making the ee in America, as Booker Washington says, “a 
nation within a nation.’ 

It may be said that there is one profound difference uefa 
the Negro and the European nationalities, namely, that the Negro 
has had his separateness and consequent race consciousness thrust 
upon him because of his exclusion and forcible isolation from white 
society. The Slavic nationalities, on the contrary, have segregated 
themselves in order to escape assimilation and escape racial extinc- 
tion in the larger cosmopolitan states. 

The difference is, however, not so great as it seems. With the 
exception of the Poles, nationalistic sentiment may be said hardly 
to have existed fifty years ago. Forty years ago when German was 
the language of the educated classes, educated Bohemians were a 
little ashamed to speak their own language in public. Now nationalist 
sentiment is so strong that, where the Czech nationality has gained 
control, it has sought to wipe out every vestige of the German lan- 
guage. It has changed the names of streets, buildings, and public 
places. In the: city of Prag, for example, all that formerly held 
German associations now fairly reeks with the sentiment of Bohemian 
nationality. 

On the other hand, the masses of the Polish people nheaaaee 
very little nationalist sentiment until after the Franco-Prussian 
War. The fact is that nationalist sentiment among the Slavs, like 
racial sentiment among the Negroes, has sprung up as the result of 
a struggle against privilege and discrimination based upon racial — 
distinctions. ‘The movement is not so far advanced among Negroes; 
sentiment is not so intense, and for several reasons probably never 
will be. 
| From what has been said it seems fair to draw one conclusion, 
namely: under conditions of secondary contact, that is to say, con- 
ditions of individual liberty and individual competition, charac- 
teristic of modern civilization, depressed racial groups tend to assume 


CONFLICT 633 


the form of nationalities. A nationality, in this narrower sense, may 
be defined as the racial group which has attained self-consciousness, no 
matter whether it has at the same time gained political independence 
or not. 

In societies organized along horizontal lines the disposition of 
individuals in the lower strata is to seek their models in the 
strata above them. Loyalty attaches to individuals, particularly to 
the upper classes, who furnish, in their persons and in their lives, the 
models for the masses of the people below them. Long after 
the nobility has lost every other social function connected with its 
vocation the ideals of the nobility have survived in our conception of 
the gentleman, genteel manners and bearing—gentility. 

The sentiment of the Negro slave was, in a certain sense, not 
merely loyalty to his master but to the white race. Negroes of the 
older generations speak very frequently, with a sense of proprietor- 
ship, of ‘our white folks.” ‘This sentiment was not always confined 
to the ignorant masses. An educated colored man once explained 
to me ‘‘that we colored people always want our white folks to be 
superior.”” He was shocked when I showed no particular enthusiasm 
for that form of sentiment. 
~2, The fundamental significance of the nationalist movement must 
be sought in the effort of subject races, sometimes consciously, 
sometimes unconsciously, to substitute, for those supplied them by 
aliens, models based on their own racial individuality and embodying 
sentiments and ideals which spring naturally out of their own lives. 

L+After a race has achieved in this way its moral independence, 
assimilation, in the sense of copying, will still continue. Nations 
and races borrow from those whom they fear as well as from those 
whom they admire. Materials taken over in this way, however, 
are inevitably stamped with the individuality of the nationalities 
that appropriate them. ‘These materials will contribute to the 
dignity, to the prestige, and to the solidarity of the nationality 
which borrows them, but they onger inspire loyalty to the 
race from which they are borro race which has attained 
the character of a nationality me etain its loyalty to the state 
of which it is a part, but only i r as that state incorporates, 
as an integral part of its orga the -practical interests, the 
aspirations and ideals of that nat: 


ae 
9 
wv 









on 


634 ete SOR TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The aim of the contending nationalities in Austria-Hungary at 
the present time seems to be a federation, like that of Switzerland, 
based upon the autonomy of the different races composing the 
empire. In the South, similarly, the races seem to be tending in 
the direction of a bi-racial organization of society, in which the 
Negro is gradually gaining a limited autonomy. What the ultimate 
outcome of this movement may be it is not safe to pipes 


3. Conflict and Accommodation’ 


In the first place, what is race friction? ‘To, answer this ele- 
mentary question it is necessary to define the abstract mental quality 
upon which race friction finally rests. This is racial “antipathy,” 
popularly spoken of as ‘“‘race prejudice.”” Whereas prejudice means 
mere predilection, either for or against, antipathy means “natural 
contrariety,” “incompatibility,” or ‘‘repugnance of qualities.” To 
quote the Century Dictionary, antipathy “expresses most of con- 
stitutional feeling and least of volition”; ‘‘it is a dislike that seems 
constitutional toward persons, things, conduct, etc.; hence it involves 
a dislike for which sometimes no good reason can be given.” I 
would define racial antipathy, then, as a natural contrariety, repug- 
nancy of qualities, or incompatibility between individuals or groups 
which are sufficiently differentiated to constitute what, for want of 
a more exact term, we call races. What is most important is that 
it involves an instinctive feeling of dislike, distaste, or repugnance, 
for which sometimes no good reason can be given. Friction is defined 
primarily as a “lack of harmony,” or a ‘‘mutual irritation.” In the 
case of races it is accentuated by antipathy. We do not have to 
depend on race riots or other acts of violence as a measure of the 
growth of race friction. Its existence may be manifested by a look 
or a gesture as well as by a word or an act. 

A verbal cause of much useless and unnecessary controversy is 
found in the use of the word “‘race.”” When we speak of “race prob- 
lems” or “‘racial antipathies,”’ what do we mean by ‘‘race”’? Clearly 
nothing scientifically definite, since ethnologists themselves are not 
agreed upon any classification of the human family along racial lines. 

t Adapted from Alfred H. Stone, “Is Race Friction between Blacks and Whites 


in the United States Growing and Inevitable?” in the American Journal of 
Sociology, XIII (1907-8), 677-96. 


“ . CONFLICT 635 


Nor would this so-called race prejudice have the slightest regard 
for such classification, if one were agreed upon. It is something which 
is not bounded by the confines of a philological or ethnological defini- 
tion. ‘The British scientist may tell the British soldier in India that 
the native is in reality his brother, and that it is wholly absurd and 
illogical and unscientific for such a thing as “‘race prejudice”’ to exist 
between them. Tommy Atkins simply replies with a shrug that to 
him and his messmates the native is a “‘nigger”’; and in so far as their 
attitude is concerned, that is the end of the matter. The same 
suggestion, regardless of the scientific accuracy of the parallel, if 
made to the American soldier in the Philippines, meets with the same 
reply. We have wasted an infinite amount of time in interminable 
controversies over the relative superiority and inferiority of different 
races. Such discussions have a certain value when conducted by 
scientific men in a purely scientific spirit. But for the purpose of 
explaining or establishing any fixed principle of race relations they are 
little better than worthless. The Japanese is doubtless quite well 
satisfied of the superiority of his people over the mushroom growths 
of western civilization, and finds no difficulty in borrowing from the 
latter whatever is worth reproducing, and improving on it in adapting 
it to his own racial needs. The Chinese do not waste their time in 
idle chatter over the relative status of their race as compared with the 
white barbarians who have intruded themselves upon them with their 
grotesque customs, their heathenish ideas, and their childishly new 
religion. The Hindu regards with veiled contempt the racial pre- 
tensions of his conqueror, and, while biding the time when the darker 
races of the earth shall once: more come into their own, does not 
bother himself with such an idle question as whether his temporary 
overlord is his racial equal. Only the white man writes volumes to 
establish on paper the fact of a superiority which is either self-evident 
and not in need of demonstration, on the one hand, or is not a fact 
and is not demonstrable, on the other. The really important matter 
is one about which there need be little dispute—the fact of racial 
differences. It is the practical question of differences—the funda- 
- mental differences of physical appearance, of mental habit and 
thought, of social customs and religious beliefs, of the thousand and 
one things keenly and clearly appreciable, yet sometimes elusive 

efinable—these are the things which at once create and find 





636 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY | 


expression in what we call race problems and race prejudices, for want 
of better terms. In just so far as these differences are fixed and 
permanently associated characteristics of two groups of people will 
the antipathies and problems between the two be permanent. 

Probably the closest approach we shall ever make to a satisfactory 
classification of races as a basis of antipathy will be that of grouping 
men according to color, along certain broad lines, the color being 
accompanied by various and often widely different, but always fairly 
persistent, differentiating physical and mental characteristics. This 
would give us substantially the white—not Caucasian, the yellow— 
not Chinese or Japanese, and the dark—not Negro, races. The 
antipathies between these general groups and between certain of 
their subdivisions will be found to be essentially fundamental, but 
they will also be found to present almost endless differences of degrees 
of actual and potential acuteness. Here elementary psychology also 
plays its part. One of the subdivisions of the Negro race is composed 
of persons of mixed blood. In many instances these are more white 
than black, yet the association of ideas has through several generations 
identified them with the Negro—and in this country friction between 
this class and white people is on some lines even greater than between 
whites and blacks. 

Race conflicts are merely the more pronounced concrete expres- 
sions of such friction. They are the visible phenomena of the abstract 
quality of racial antipathy—the tangible evidence of the existence of 
racial problems. ‘The form of such expressions of antipathy varies 
with the nature of the racial contact in each instance. Their different 
and widely varying aspects are the confusing and often contradictory 
phenomena of race relations. They are dependent upon diverse 
conditions, and are no more susceptible of rigid and permanent 
classification than are the whims and moods of human nature. It 
is more than a truism to say that a condition precedent to race friction 
or race conflict is contact between sufficient numbers of two diverse 
racial groups. ‘There is a definite and positive difference between 
contact between individuals and contact between masses. ‘The 
association between two isolated individual members of two races 
may be wholly different from contact between masses of the same 
race groups. The factor of numbers embraces, indeed, the very 
crux of the problems arising from contact between different races. 


| 


CONFLICT 637 


A primary cause of race friction is the vague, rather intangible, 
but wholly real, feeling of “ pressure”? which comes to the white man 
almost instinctively in the presence of a mass of people of a different 
race. In a certain important sense all racial problems are distinctly 
problems of racial distribution. Certainly the definite action of the 
controlling race, particularly as expressed in laws, is determined by 
the factor of the numerical difference between its population and 
that of the inferior group. This fact stands out prominently in the 
history of our colonial legislation for the control of Negro slaves. 
These laws increased in severity up to a certain point as the slave 
population increased in numbers. ‘The same condition is disclosed 
in the history of the ante-bellum legislation of the southern, eastern, 
New England, and middle western states for the control of the free 
Negro population. So today no state in the Union would have 
separate car laws where the Negro constituted only 10 or 15 per cent 
of its total population. No state would burden itself with the 
maintenance of two separate school systems with a negro element 
of less than 1o per cent. Means of local separation might be found 
but there would be no expression of law on the subject. 

Just as a heavy increase of Negro population makes for an increase 
of friction, direct legislation, the protection of drastic social customs, 
and a general feeling of unrest or uneasiness on the part of the white 
population, so a decrease of such population, or a relatively small 
increase as compared with the whites, makes for less friction, greater 
racial tolerance, and a lessening of the feeling of necessity for severely 
discriminating laws or customs. And this quite aside from the fact 
of a difference of increase or decrease of actual points of contact, 
varying with differences of numbers. The statement will scarcely be 
questioned that the general attitude of the white race, as a whole, 
toward the Negro would become much less uncompromising if we 
were to discover that through two census periods the race had shown 
a positive decrease in numbers. Racial antipathy would not decrease, 
but the conditions which provoke its outward expression would under- 
go a change for the better. There is a direct relation between the 
mollified attitude of the people of the Pacific coast toward the Chinese 
population and the fact that the Chinese population decreased 
between 1890 and 1900. There would in time be a difference of feel- 
ing toward the Japanese now there if the immigration of more were 


638 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


prohibited by treaty stipulation. There is the same immediate 
relation between the tolerant attitude of whites toward the natives 
in the Hawaiian Islands and the feeling that the native is a decadent 
and dying race. Aside from the influence of the Indian’s warlike 
qualities and of his refusal to submit to slavery, the attitude and dis- 
position of the white race toward him have been influenced by con- 
siderations similar to those which today operate in Hawaii. And 
the same influence has been a factor in determining the attitude of 
the English toward the slowly dying Maoris of New Zealand. 

At no time in the history of the English-speaking people and at 
no place of which we have any record where large numbers of them 
have been brought into contact with an approximately equal number 
of Negroes have the former granted to the latter absolute equality, 
either political, social, or economic. With the exception of five New 
England states, with a total Negro population of only 16,084 in 1860, 
every state in the Union discriminated against the Negro politically 
before the Civil War. The white people continued to do so— 
North as well as South—as long as they retained control of the 
suffrage regulations of their states. The determination to do so 
renders one whole section of the country practically a political unit 
to this day. In South Africa we see the same determination of the 
white man to rule, regardless of the numerical superiority of the 
black. The same determination made Jamaica surrender the right 
of self-government and renders her satisfied with a hybrid political 
arrangement today. ‘The presence of practically 100,000 Negroes in 
the District of Columbia makes 200,000 white people content to live 
under an anomaly in a self-governing country. ‘The proposition is 
too elementary for discussion that the white man when confronted 
with a sufficient number of Negroes to create in his mind a sense of 
political unrest or danger either alters his form of government in 
order to be rid of the incubus or destroys the political strength of 
the Negro by force, by evasion, or by direct action. 

In the main, the millions in the South live at peace with their 
white neighbors. ‘The masses, just one generation out of slavery 
and thousands of them still largely controlled by its influences, accept 
the superiority of the white race as a race, whatever may be their 
private opinion of some of its members. And, furthermore, they 
accept this relation of superior and inferior as a mere matter of 


CONFLICT 639 


course—as part of their lives—as something neither to be ques- 
tioned, wondered at, or worried over. Despite apparent impressions 
to the contrary, the average southern white man gives no more thought 
to the matter than does the Negro. As I tried to make clear at the 
outset, the status of superior and inferior is simply an inherited part 
of his instinctive mental equipment—a concept which he does not 
have to reason out. The respective attitudes are complementary, 
and under the mutual acceptance and understanding there still exist 
unnumbered thousands of instances of kindly and affectionate rela- 
tions—telations of which the outside world knows nothing and 
understands nothing. In the mass, the southern Negro has not 
bothered himself about the ballot for more than twenty years, not 
since his so-called political leaders let him alone; he is not disturbed 
over the matter of separate schools and cars, and he neither knows 
nor cares anything about ‘‘social equality.” 

But what of the other class? The ‘‘masses” is at best an un- 
satisfactory and indefinite term. It is very far from embracing even 
the southern Negro, and we need not forget that seven years ago 
there were 900,000 members of the race living outside of the South. 
What of the class, mainly urban and large in number, who have lost 
the typical habit and attitude of the Negro of the mass, and who, 
more and more, are becoming restless and chafing under existing 
conditions? ‘There is an intimate and very natural relation between 
the social and intellectual advance of the so-called Negro and the 
matter of friction along social lines. It is, in fact, only as we touch 
the higher groups that we can appreciate the potential results of con- 
tact upon a different plane from that common to the masses in the 
South. There is a large and steadily increasing group of men, more or 
less related to the Negro by blood and wholly identified with him by 
American social usage, who refuse to accept quietly the white man’s 
attitude toward the race. I appreciate the mistake of laying too 
great stress upon the utterances of any one man or group of men, 
but the mistakes in this case lie the other way. The American white 
man knows little or nothing about the thought and opinion of the 
colored men and women who today largely mold and direct Negro 
public opinion in this country. Even the white man who considers 
himself a student of ‘‘the race question” rarely exhibits anything 
more than profound ignorance of the Negro’s side of the problem. He | 


640 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


does not know what the other man is thinking and saying on the 
subject. This composite type which we poetically call “black,” but 
which in reality is every shade from black to white, is slowly develop- 
ing a consciousness of its own racial solidarity. It is finding its own 
distinctive voice, and through its own books and papers and maga- 
zines, and through its own social organizations, is at once giving 
utterance to its discontent and making known its demands. 

And with this dawning consciousness of race there is likewise 
coming an appreciation of the limitations and restrictions which 
hem in its unfolding and development. One of the best indices to 
the possibilities of increased racial friction is the Negro’s own rec- 
ognition of the universality of the white man’s racial antipathy 
toward him. ‘This is the one clear note above the storm of protest 
against the things that are, that in his highest aspirations every- 
where the white man’s “‘prejudice”’ blocks the colored man’s path. 
And the white man may with possible profit pause long enough to 
ask the deeper significance of the Negro’s finding of himself. May it 
not be only part of a general awakening of the darker races of the 
earth? Captain H. A. Wilson, of the English army, says that through 
all Africa there has penetrated in some way a vague confused report 
that far off somewhere, in the unknown, outside world, a great war 
has been fought between a white and a yellow race, and won by the 
yellow man. And even before the Japanese-Russian conflict, “ Ethi- 
opianism”’ and the cry of ‘‘Africa for the Africans” had begun to 
disturb the English in South Africa. It is said time and again that 
the dissatisfaction and unrest in India are accentuated by the results 
of this same war. ‘There can be no doubt in the mind of any man 
who carefully reads American Negro journals that their rejoicing over 
the Japanese victory sounded a very different note from that of the 
white American. It was far from being a mere expression of sym- 
pathy with a people fighting for national existence against a power 
which had made itself odious to the civilized world by its treatment 
of its subjects. It was, instead, a quite clear cry of exultation over 
the defeat of a white race by a dark one. The white man is no wiser 
than the ostrich if he refuses to see the truth that in the possibilities 
of race friction the Negro’s increasing consciousness of race is to play 
a part scarcely less important than the white man’s racial antipathies, 
prejudices, or whatever we may elect to call them. 


CONFLICT 641 


III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


1. The Psychology and Sociology of Conflict, Conscious 
Competition, and Rivalry 


Consciousness has been described as an effect of conflict—conflict 
of motor tendencies in the individual, conflict of sentiments, attitudes, 
and cultures in the group. The individual, activated in a given 
situation by opposing tendencies, is compelled to redefine his attitude. 
Consciousness is an incident of this readjustment. 

Frequently adjustment involves a suppression of one tendency in 
the interest of another, of one wish in favor of another. Where these 
suppressions are permanent, they frequently result in disorders of 
conduct and disorganization of the personality. The suppressed 
wish, when suppression results in disturbances of the conscious life, 
has been called by psychoanalysts a complex. Freud and his col- 
leagues have isolated and described certain of these complexes. Most 
familiar of these are the Oedipus complex, which is explained as an 
effect of the unconscious conflict of father and son for the love of 
the mother; and the Electra complex, which similarly has as its source 
the unconscious struggle of mother and daughter for the affection 
of the father. Adler, in his description of the “inferiority ’’ complex, 
explains it as an effect of the conflict growing out of the contrast 
between the ideal and the actual status of the person. Other mental 
conflicts described by the psychoanalysts are referred to the “adopted 
child”? complex, the Narcissus complex, the sex shock, etc. These 
conflicts which disturb the mental life of the person are all the reflec- 
tions of social relations and are to be explained in terms of status 
and the réle of the individual in the group. 

Emulation and rivalry represent conflict at higher social levels, 
where competition has been translated into forms that inure to the 
survival and success of the group. Research in this field, fragmentary 
as it is, confirms the current impression of the stimulation of effort 
in the person through conscious competition with his fellows. Adler’s 
theory of “psychic compensation” is based on the observation that 
handicapped individuals frequently excel in the very fields in which 
they are apparently least qualified to compete. Demosthenes, for 
example, became a great orator in spite of the fact that he stuttered. 


642 - INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Ordahl presents the only comprehensive survey of the literature in 
this field. 

Simmel has made the outstanding contribution to the sociological 
conception of conflict. Just as the attitudes of the individual person 
represent an organization of antagonistic elements, society, as he 
interprets it, is a unity of which the elements are conflicting tend- 
encies. Society, he insists, would be quite other than it is, were 
it not for the aversions, antagonisms, differences, as well as the 
sympathies, affections, and similarities between individuals and 
groups of individuals. The unity of society includes these opposing 
forces, and, as a matter of fact, society is organized upon the basis 
of conflict. 

Conflict is an organizing principle in society. Just as the indi- 
vidual, under the influences of contact and conflict with other 
individuals, acquires a status and develops a personality, so groups 
of individuals, in conflict with other groups, achieve unity, organiza- 
tion, group consciousness, and assume the forms characteristic of 
conflict groups—that is to say, they become parties, sects, nation- 
alities, etc. 


2. Types of Conflict 


Simmel, in his study of conflict, distinguished four types—namely, 
war, feud and faction, litigation, and discussion, i.e., the impersonal 
struggles of parties Reet. This tiissifitation, while discrimi- 
nating, is certainly not complete. ere are, for example, the varied 
forms of sport, in which conflict assumes the form of rivalry. These 
are nevertheless organized on a conflict pattern. Particularly inter- 
esting in this connection are games of chance, gambling and gambling 
devices which appeal to human traits so fundamental that no people 
is without example of them in its folkways. 

Gambling is, according to Groos, “a fighting play,” and the 
universal human interest in this sport is due to the fact that “no 
other form of play displays in so many-sided a fashion the combative- 
ness of human nature.’”! 

The history of the duel, either in the form of the judicial combat, 
the wager of battle of the Middle Ages, or as a form of private ven- 
geance, offers interesting material for psychological or sociological 


Karl Groos, The Play of Man, p. 213. (New York, tgor.) 


CONFLICT 643 


investigation. The transition from private vengeance to public 
prosecution, of which the passing of the duel is an example, has not 
been completed. In fact, new forms are in some cases gradually 
gaining social sanction. We still have our “unwritten laws” for 
certain offenses. It is proverbially difficult to secure the conviction, 
in certain parts of the country, Chicago, for example, of a woman who 
kills her husband or her lover. The practice of lynching Negroes in 
the southern states, for offenses against women, and for any other 
form of conduct that is construed as a challenge to the dominant race, 
is an illustration from a somewhat different field, not merely of the 
persistence, but the gradual development of the so-called unwritten 
law. The circumstances under which these and all other unwritten 
laws arise, in which custom controls in contravention of the formal 
written code, have not been investigated from the point of view of 
sociology and in their human-nature aspects. 

Several studies of games and gambling, in some respects the most 
unique objectivations of human interest, have been made from the 
point of view of the fundamental human traits involved, notably 
Thomas’ article on The Gaming Instinct, Groos’s chapter on “ Fighting 
Play,” in his Play of Man, and G. T. W. Patrick’s Psychology of 
Relaxation, in which the theory of catharsis, familiar since Aristotle, is 
employed to explain play, laughter, profanity, the drink habit, 
and war. 

Original materials exist in abundance for the study of feud, liti- 
gation, and war. No attempt seems to have been made to study 
feud and litigation comparatively, as Westermark has studied mar- 
riage institutions. Something has indeed been done in this direction 
with the subject of war, notably by Letourneau in France and by 
Frobenius in Germany. Sumner’s notable essay on War is likewise 
an important contribution to the subject. The literature upon war, 
however, is so voluminous and so important that it will be discussed 
later, separately, and in greater detail. 

Quite as interesting and important as that of war is the natural 
history of discussion, including under that term political and religious 
controversy and social agitation, already referred to as impersonal or 
secondary conflict. 

The history of discussion, however, is the history of freedom— 
freedom, at any rate, of thought and of speech. It is only when peace 


644 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and freedom have been established that discussion is practicable or 
possible. A number of histories have been written in recent years 
describing the rise of rationalism, as it is called, and the réle of dis- 
cussion and agitation in social life. Draper’s History of the Intellectual 
Development of Europe and Lecky’s History of the Rise and Influence 
of the Spirit of Rationalism in Europe are among the earlier works in 
this field. Robertson’s History of Free Thought is mainly a survey 
of religious skepticism but contains important and suggestive refer- 
ences to the natural processes by which abstract thought has arisen 
out of the cultural contacts and conflicts among peoples, which con- 
quest and commerce have brought into the same universe of discourse. 
What we seem to have in these works are materials for the study of 
the communal processes through which thought is formulated. Once 
formulated it becomes a permanent factor in the life of the group. 
The réle of discussion in the communal process will be considered 
later in connection with the newspaper, the press agent, propaganda, 
and the various factors and mechanisms determining the formation 
of public opinion. 


3. The Literature of War 


The emphasis upon the struggle for existence which followed the 
publication of Darwin’s The Origin of Species, in 1859, seemed to 
many thinkers to give a biological basis for the necessity and the 
inevitability of war. No distinction was made by writers of this 
school of thought between competition and conflict. Both were 
supposed to be based on instinct. Nicolai’s The Biology of War is 
an essay with the avowed design of refuting the biological justification 
of war. 

Psychological studies of war have explained war either as an 
expression of instinct or as a reversion to a primordial animal-human 
type of behavior. _ Patrick, who is representative of this latter school, 
interprets war as a form of relaxation. G. W. Crile has offered a 
mechanistic interpretation of war and peace based on studies of the 
chemical changes which men undergo in warfare. Crile comes to 
the conclusion, however, that war is an action pattern, fixed in the 
social heredity of the national group, and not a type of behavior 
determined biologically. 





CONFLICT 645 


The human nature of war and the motives which impel the person 
to the great adventure and the supreme risk of war have not been 
subjected to sociological study. A mass of material, however, con- 
sisting of personal documents of all types, letters, common-sense 
observation, and diaries is now available for such study. 

Much of the literature of war has been concentrated on the 
problem of the abolition of war. There are the idealists and the 
conscientious objectors who look to good will, humanitarian senti- 
ment, and pacificism to end war by the transformation of attitudes 
of men and the policies of nations. On the other hand, there are the 
hard-headed and practical thinkers and statesmen who believe, with 
Hobbes, that war will not end until there is established a power 
strong enough to overawe a recalcitrant state. Finally, there is a 
third group of social thinkers who emphasize the significance of the 
formation of a world public opinion. This “international mind” 
they regard of far greater significance for the future of humanity than 
the problem of war or peace, of national rivalries, or of future race 
conflicts. 


4. Race Conflict - 


A European school of sociologists emphasizes conflict as the 
fundamental social process. Gumplowicz, in his book Der Rassen- 
kampf, formulated a theory of social contacts and conflicts upon the 
conception of original ethnic groups in terms of whose interaction 
the history of humanity might be written. Novicow and Ratzen- 
hofer maintain similar, though not so extreme, theories of social 
origins and historical developments. 

With the tremendous extension of communication and growth of 
commerce, the world is today a great community in a sense that could 
not have been understood a century ago. But the world, if it is now 
one community, is not yet one society. Commerce has created an 
economic interdependence, but contact and communication have not 
resulted in either a political or a cultural solidarity. Indeed, the first 
evidences of the effects of social contacts appear to be disruptive 
rather than unifying. In every part of the world in which the white 
and colored races have come into intimate contact, race problems 
have presented the most ‘intractable of all social problems. 


646 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Interest in this problem manifests itself in the enormous literature 
on the subject. Most of all that has been written, however, is super- 
ficial. Much is merely sentimental, interesting for the attitudes it 
exhibits, but otherwise adding nothing to our knowledge of the facts. 
The best account of the American situation is undoubtedly Ray 
Stannard Baker’s Following the Color Line. ‘The South African situ- 
ation is interestingly and objectively described by Maurice Evans in 
Black and White in South East Africa. Steiner’s book, The Japanese In- 
vasion, is, perhaps, the best account of the Japanese-American situation. 

The race problem merges into the problem of the nationalities 
and the so-called subject races. The struggles of the minor nation- 
alities for self-determination is a phase of racial conflict; a phase, 
however, in which language rather than color is the basis of division 
and conflict. 

5. Conflict Groups 

In chapter i conflict groups were divided into gangs, labor organi- 
zations, sects, parties, and nationalities.. Common to these groups 
is an organization and orientation with reference to conflict with other 
groups of the same kind or with a more or less hostile social environ- 
ment, as in the case of religious sects. 

The spontaneous organizations of boys and youths called gangs 
attracted public attention in American communities because of the 
relation of these gangs to juvenile delinquency and adolescent crime. 
An interesting but superficial literature upon the gang has developed 
in recent years, represented typically by J. Adams Puffer The Boy and 
his Gang. ‘The brief but picturesque descriptions of individual gangs 
seem to indicate that the play group tends to pass over into the gang 
when it comes into conflict with other groups of like type or with the 
community. The fully developed gang appears to possess a restricted 
membership, a natural leader, a name—usually that of a leader or a 
locality—a body of tradition, custom and a ritual, a rendezvous, a 
territorial area which it holds as a sort of possession and defends 
against invasion by other groups. Attention was early called, as by 
Mr. Brewster Adams in an article The Street Gang as a Factor in 
Politics, to the facility with which the gang graduates into a loca! 
political organization, representing thus the sources of political power 
of the typical American city. 


™ Supra, p. 50. 


: 


CONFLICT 647 


Although the conflict of economic groups is not a new nor even 
a modern phenomenon, no such permanent conflict groups as those 
represented by capital and labor existed until recent times. Veblen 
has made an acute observation upon this point. The American 
Federation of Labor, he states, “is not organized for production but 
for bargaining.” It is, in effect, an organization for the strategic 
defeat of employers and rival organizations, by recourse to enforced 
unemployment and obstruction; not for the production of goods 
and services.? 

Research in the labor problem by the Webbs in England and by 
Commons, Hoxie, and others in this country has been primarily 
concerned with the history and with the structure and functions of 
trade unions. At present there isa tendency to investigate the human- 
nature aspects of the causes of the industrial conflict. The current 
phrases ‘‘instincts in industry,” ‘the human factor in economics,” 
“the psychology of the labor movement,” “industry, emotion, and 
unrest”’ indicate the change in attitude. The essential struggle is 
seen to lie not in the conflict of classes, intense and ruthless as it is, 
but more and more in the fundamental struggle between a mechanical 
and impersonal system, on the one hand, and the person with his 
wishes unsatisfied and insatiable on the other. All attempts to put 
the relations of capital and labor upon a moral basis have failed 
hitherto. The latest and most promising experiment in this direction 
is the so-called labor courts established by the Amalgamated Clothing 
Workers and their employers. ; 

The literature upon sects and parties has been written for the 
most part with the purpose of justifying, to a critical and often hostile 
public, the sectarian and partisan aims and acts of their several 
organizations. In a few works such as Sighele’s Psychologie des sectes 
and Michels’ Political Parties an attempt has been made at objective 
description and analysis of the mechanisms of the behavior of the 
sect and of the party. 

The natural history of the state from the tribe to the modern 
nation has been that of a political society based on conflict. Franz 
Oppenheimer maintains the thesis in his book The State: Its History 
and Development Viewed Sociologically that conquest has been the 
historical basis of the state. The state is, in other words, an organi- 


* The Dial, LXVII (Oct. 4, 1919), 297. 


648 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


zation of groups that have been in conflict, i.e., classes and castes; 
or of groups that are in conflict, i.e., political parties. 

A nationality, as distinct from a nation, as for instance the Irish 
nationality, is a language and cultural group which has become group 
conscious through its struggle for status in the larger imperial or 
international group. Nationalism is, in other words, a phenomenon 
of internationalism. 

The literature upon this subject is enormous. The most. inter- 


esting recent works on the general topic are Dominian’s The Frontiers . 


of Language and Nationality in Europe, Pillsbury’s The Psychology of 
Nationality and Internationalism, and Oakesmith’s Race and Nation- 
ality. 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY ™ 


I. PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIOLOGY OF CONFLICT 


A. Conflict and Social Process 


(1) Simmel, Georg. ‘“‘The Sociology of Conflict.” Translated from 
the German by Albion W. Small. American Journal of Sociology, 
IX (1903-4), 490-525; 672-89; 798-811. 

(2) Gumplowicz, Ludwig. Der Rassenkampf. Sociologische Unter- 
suchungen. Innsbruck, 1883. 

(3) Novicow, J. Les Luttes entre sociétés humaines et leurs phases 
successives. Paris, 1893. 

(4) Ratzenhofer, Gustav. Wesen und Zweck der Politik. Als Theil 
der Sociologie und Grundlage der Staatswissenschaften. 3 vols. 
Leipzig, 1803. 

(5) — Die sociologische Erkenntnis. Positive Philosophie des 
Socialen Lebens. Leipzig, 1898. 

(6) Sorel, Georges. Reflections on Violence. ‘New York, 1914. 


B. Conflict and Mental Conflict 


(1) Healy, William. Mental Conflicts and Meine Boston, 1917. 
(2) Prince, Morton. The Unconscious. The fundamentals of person- 
ality, normal and abnormal. Chap. xv, ‘““‘Instincts, Sentiments, 
and Conflicts,’ pp. 446-87; chap. xvi, “‘Genera] Phenomena 
Resulting from Emotional Conflicts,’ pp. 488-528. New. York, 





Adler, Alfred. The Neurotic Constitution. Outlines of a com- 
parative individualistic psychology and psychotherapy. Trans- 
lated by Bernard Glueck and John E. Lind. New York, 1917. 

(4) Southard, E. E., and Jarrett, Mary C. The Kingdom of Evils. 
Psychiatric social work presented in one hundred case histories, 
together with a classification of social divisions of evil. New York, 
1Q22. 


a 


(3 





CONFLICT 649 


(5) Adler, Alfred. A Study of Organ Inferiority and Its Psychical 
Compensation. A contribution to clinical medicine. Translated 
by S. E. Jelliffe. ‘Nervous and Mental Disease Monograph 
Series,’ No. 24. New York, 1917. 

(6) Lay, Wilfrid. Man’s Unconscious Conflict. A popular exposition 
of psychoanalysis. New York, 1917. ; 

(7) Blanchard, Phyllis. The Adolescent Girl. A study from the 
psychoanalytic viewpoint. Chap. iii, ‘‘The Adolescent Conflict,” 
pp. 87-115. New York, 1920. 

(8) Weeks, Arland D. Social Antagonisms. Chicago, 1918. 

C. Rivalry 

(1) Baldwin, J. Mark, editor. Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology. 
Article on “Rivalry.” Vol. II, pp. 476-78. 

(2) Vincent, George E. ‘‘The Rivalry of Social Groups, 
Journal of Sociology, XVI (1910-11), 469-84. 

(3) Ordahl, G. “Rivalry: Its Genetic Development and Pedagogy,” 
The Pedagogical Seminary, XV (1908), 492-549. [Bibliography.] 

(4) Ely, Richard T. Studies in the Evolution of Industrial Society. 

hap. ii, “Rivalry and Success in Economic Life,” pp. 152-63. 
New York, 1903. 

(5) Cooley, Charles H. Personal Competition: Its Place in the Social 
Order and Effect upon Individuals; with Some Considerations on 
Success. “Economic Studies,” Vol. IV, No. 2. New York, 1899. 

(6) Triplett, N. ‘“‘The Dynamogenic Factors in Pacemaking and Com- 
petition,’ American Journal of Psychology, TX (1897-98), 507-33. 

(7) Baldwin, J. Mark. ‘‘La Concurrence sociale et l’individualisme,”’ 
Revue internationale de sociologie, XVIII (1910), 641-57. 

(8) Groos, Karl. The Play of Man. ‘Translated with author’s 
co-operation by Elizabeth L. Baldwin with a preface by J. Mark 
Baldwin. New York, 1901. 


” American 


D. Discussion 
(1) Bagehot, Walter. Physics and Politics. Or thoughts on the 
application of the principles of “Natural Selection” and ‘‘Inherit- 
ance” to political society. Chap. v, “‘The Age of Discussion,” 
pp. 156-204. New York, 1875. 
(2) Robertson, John M. A Short History of Free Thought, Ancient 
and Modern. 2 vols. New York, 1906. 
(3) Windelband, Wilhelm. Geschichte der alten Philosophie. ‘Die 
Sophistik und Sokrates,” pp. 63-92. Miinchen, 1894. 
(4) Mackay, R. W. The Progress of the Intellect as Exemplified in the 
Religious Development of the Greeks and Hebrews. London, 1850. 
(5) Stephen, Sir Leslie. History of English Thought in the Eighteenth 
Century. 2d ed., 2 vols. London, 1881. 
(6) Damiron, J. Ph. Mémoires pour servir a histoire de la philosophie 
au 18 e siécle. 3 vols. Paris, 1858-64. 
(7) Draper, J. W. History of the Intellectual Development of Europe. 
Rev. ed., 2 vols. New York, 1904. 
History of the Conflict between Religion and Science. 
New York, 1873. 





(8) 


650 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(9) Lecky, W. E. H. History of the Rise and Influence of the Spurl 


of Rationalism in Europe. Rev. ed., 2 vols. New York, 1903. 


(10) White, Andrew D. History of the Warfare of Science with Theology. 


An expansion of an earlier essay, “The Warfare of Science,” 2d ed., 
1877. 2 vols. New York, 1806. 


(11) Haynes, E. S. P. Religious Persecution. A study in political 


psychology. London, 1904. 


(12) Chafee, Zechariah, Jr. Freedom of Speech. New York, 1920. 


Il. TYPES OF CONFLICT 


A. War 
1. Psychology and Sociology of War: 


(x) Darwin, Charles. The Descent of Man. Chaps. xvii and xvii. 
“Secondary Sexual Characters of Mammals,” pp. 511-67. 
(Gives account of the fighting instinct in males and the methods 
of fighting of animals.) 2d rev. ed. New York, 1907. 

(2) Bovet, Pierre. The Fighting Instinct. Translated from the 
French by J. Y. Greig. New York, 1923. 

(3) Thorndike, Edward L. The Original Nature of Man. ‘“‘Fight- 
ing,’ pp. 68-75. New York, 1913. 

(4) Hall, G. Stanley. “A Study of Anger,” American Journal of 
Psychology, X (1898-99), 516-91. 

(5) Stratton, George M. Anger. Its religious and moral signifi- 
cance. New York, 1923. 

(6) Patrick, G. T. W. Zhe Psychology of Social Reconstruction. 
Boston, 1920. 

(7) The Psychology of Relaxation. Chap. vi, “The 
Psychology of War,” pp. 219-52. Boston, 1916. 

(8) Pillsbury, W. B. The Psychology of Nationalism and Inter- 
nationalism. New York, toto. 

(9) Trotter, W. Instincts of the Herd in Peace and War. London, 
1916. 

(10) La Grasserie, R. de. ‘‘De lintolérance comme phénoméne 
social,” Revue Internationale de Sociologie, XVIII (1910), 76-113. 

(11) Percin, Alexandre. Le Combat. Paris, 1914. 

(12) Huot, Louis, and Voivenel, Paul. Le Courage. Paris, 1917. 

(13) Porter, W. T. Shock at the Front. Boston, 1918. 

(14) Lord, Herbert G. The Psychology of Courage. Boston, 1918. 

(15) Hall, G. Stanley. Morale, the Supreme Standard of Life and 
Conduct. New York, 1920. 

(16) Roussy, G., and Lhermitte, J. The Psychoneuroses of War. 
Translated by W. B. Christopherson. London, 1918. 

(17) Babinski, J.F.,and Froment,J. Hysteria or Pithiatism,and Reflex 
Nervous Disorders in the Neurology of the War. Translated by J.D. 
Rolleston, with a preface by E. Farquhar Buzzard. London, 1918. 





2. The Natural History of War: 


(1) Sumner, William G. War and Other Essays. Edited with an 
introduction by Albert Galloway Keller. New Haven, ro1tr. 

(2) Letourneau, Ch. La Guerre dans les diverses races humaines. 
Paris, 1895. 


EE ——— a 


CONFLICT 651 


(3) Frobenius, Leo. Weltgeschichte des Krieges. Unter Mit- 
wirkung von Oberstleutnant a.D. H. Frobenius u. Korvetten- 
Kapitan a.D E. Kohlhauer. Hannover, 1903. 

(4) Bakeless, John. The Economic Causes of Modern Wars. A 
study of the period 1878-1918. New York, 1021. 

(5) Crosby, Oscar T. International War, Its Causes and Its Cure. 
London, roro. 

(6) Sombart, Werner. Krieg und Kapitalismus. Studien zur 
Entwicklungsgeschichte des modernen Kapitalismus. Vol. II, 
Miinchen, 1913. 

(7) Lagorgette, Jean. Le Réle de la guerre. Etude de sociolegie 
générale. Préface de M. Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu. Paris, 1906. 

(8) Steinmetz, S. R. Der Krieg als sociologisches Problem. Pp. 
21 ff. Amsterdam, 1899. 

(9) Die Philosophie des Krieges. ‘‘Natur- und kultur- 
philosophische Bibliothek,” Band VI. Leipzig, 1907. 

(ro) Constantin, A. Le réle socivlogique de la guerre et le sentiment 
national. Suivi de la guerre comme moyen de sélection col- 
lective, par S. R. Steinmetz. ‘“‘Bibliothéque scientifique inter- 
nationale,’ Tome CVIII. Paris, 1907 

(11) Keller. Albert G. Through War to Peace. New York, 1018. 

(12) Worms, René, editor. ‘‘Les luttes sociales.” Awnales de lin- 


stitut international de sociologie. Tome XI. Paris, 1907. 
(13) Fielding-Hall, H. Nature of War and Its Causes. London, 





IQI7. 
(14) Oliver, Frederick S. Ordeal by Batile. London, to15. 


3. War and Human Nature: 


(1) Petit-Dutaillis, C. E. ‘L’Appel de guerre en Dauphiné Isére 
2 aott 1914,” Annales de I’ Université de Grenoble, XX VII (1915), 
1-59. {Documents consisting of letters written by instructors 
and others describing the sentiments with which the declaration 
of war was received.| 

(2) Wood, W., editor. Soldiers’ Stories of the War. London, rors. 

(3) Buswell, Leslie. Ambulance No. to: Personal Letters from the 
Front. Boston, 1916. 

(4) Kilpatrick, James A. Tommy Atkins at War as Told in His 
Own Letters. New York, 1914. 

(5) Fadl, Said Memun Abul. ‘Die Frauen des Islams und der 
Weltkrieg,” Nord und Siid, CLV (Nov., 1915), 171-74. [Con- 
tains a Jetter from a Turkish mother to her son at the front.] 

(6) Maublanc, René. ‘“‘La guerre vue par des enfants (septembre, 
1914).” (Récits par des enfants de campagne.) Revue de 
Parts, XXII (septembre-octobre, 1915), 396-418 

(7) Daudet, Ernest, editor. ‘‘L’ame francaise et l’4me allemande.”’ 
Lettres de soldats. Documents pour histoire de !a_ guerre. 
Paris, 1915. 

(8) “Heimatsbriefe an russische Soldaten.” (Neue philologische 
Rundschau; hrsg. von dr. C. Wagener und dr. E. Ludwig in 
Bremen. Jahrg. 1886-1908.) Die neue Rundschau. UW (1915), 
1673-83. 


652 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(9) “The Attack at Loos,’ by a French Lieutenant. ‘“ Under 
Shell-Fire at Dunkirk,” by an American Nurse. ‘‘The Winter’s 
War,” by a British Captain: ‘The Bitter’ Experience of 
Lorraine,’ by the Prefect of Meurthe-et-Moselle. Adlantic 
Monthly, CXVI (1915), 688-711. 

(10) Béhme, Margarete. Kriegsbriefe der Familie Wimmel. (Per- 
sonal experiences in the Great War). Dresden, rors. 

(11) Chevillon, André. ‘‘Lettres d’un soldat,” Revue de Paris, 
XXII (juillet-aofit, 1915), 471-95. 

(12) Boutroux, Piérre. ‘Les soldats allemands en campagne, 
d’aprés leur correspondance,” Revue de Paris, XXII (septembre- 
octobre, 1915), 323-43; 470-01. 

(13) West, Arthur G. The Diary of a Dead Officer. London, 1918. 

(14) Mayer, Emile. ‘‘Emotions des chefs en campagne,” Bzblio- 
théeque universelle et Revue Suisse, LXTX (1913), 98-131. 

(15) Wehrhan, K. ‘‘ Volksdichtung iiber unsere gefallenen Helden,” 
Die Grenzboten, LXXIV (No. 28, July 14, 1915), 58-64. [Calls 
attention to growth of a usage (anfangs, wagte sich der Brauch 
nur schiichtern, hier und da, hervor) of printing verses, some 
original, some quoted, in the death notices.] 

(16) Naumann, Friedrich. ‘‘Der Kriegsglaube,”’ Die Hilfe, XXI 
(No. 36, Sept. 9, 1915), 576. [Sketches the forces that have 
created a war creed, in which all confessions participate, immedi- 
ately and without formalities. ] 

(17) Roepke, Dr. Fritz. “Der Religidse Geist in deutschen Sol- 
datenbriefen,” Die Grenzboten, LX XIV (No. 30, July 28, 1915), 
124-28. [An interesting analysis of letters which are not 
reproduced in full.] 

(18) Wendland, Walter. ‘Krieg und Religion,’ Die Grenzboten, 
LXXIV (No. 33, Sept. 11, 1915), 212-19. [Reviews the litera- 
ture of war and religion.] 

(19) Bang, J. P. Hurrah and Hallelujah. The teaching of Ger- 
many’s poets, prophets, professors, and preachers; a documen- 
tation. From the Danish by Jessie Bréchner. London and 
New York, 1017. 


B. Industrial Conflicts 


(1) Schwittau, G. Die Formen des wirtschaftlichen Kampfes, Streik, 
Boykott, Aussperung, usw. Eine volkswirtschaftliche Untersuchung 
auf dem Gebiete der gegenwiartigen Arbeitspolitik. Berlin, rorz. 
[Bibliography.] 

(2) Hall, Frederick S. Sympathetic Strikes and Sympathetic Lockouts. 
“Columbia University Studies in Political Science.” Vol. X. 
New York, 1898. [Bibliography.] 

(3) Bing, Alexander M. War-time Strikes and Their Adjustment. 
With an introduction by Felix Adler. New York, rg2r. 

(4) Egerton, Charles E., and Durand, E. Dana. U. S. Industrial 
Commission Reports of the Industrial Commission on Labor Organt- 
zations. “‘Labor Disputes and Arbitration.” Washington, r1gor. 

(5) Janes, George M. The Control of Strikes in American Trade Unions. 
Baltimore, 1916. 


CONFLICT 653 


(6) United States Strike Commission, 1895. Report on the Chicago 
Strike of June-July, 1894, by the United States Strike Commission. 
Washington, 1895. 

(7) Warne, Frank J. ‘‘The Anthracite Coal Strike,” Amnnals of the 
American Academy, XVII (1901), 15-52. 

(8) Anthracite Coal Strike Commission, 1902-3. Report to the President 
on the Anthracite Coal Strike of May-October, 1902, by the Anthracite 
Coal Strike Commission. Washington, 1903. 

(9) Hanford, Benjamin. The Labor Warin Colorado. New York, 1904. 

(ro) Rastall, B. M. The Labor History of the Cripple Creek District. 
A study in industrial evolution. Madison, Wis., 1908. 

(11) United States Bureau of Labor. Report on Strike at Bethlehem 
Steel Works, South Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Prepared under 
the direction of Charles P. Neill, commissioner of labor. Wash- 
ington, 1910. 

(x2) Wright, Arnold. Disturbed Dublin. The story of the great 
strike of 1913-14, with a description of the industries of the Irish 
Capital. London, 1914. 

(13) Seattle General Strike Committee. The Seattle General Strike. 
An account of what happened in the Seattle labor movement, 
during the general strike, February 6-11, 1919. Seattle, 1919. 

(14) Interchurch World Movement. Report on the Steel Strike of 1919. 
New York, 1920. 

(15) U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. Report in Regard to the Strike 
of Mine Workers in the Michigan Copper District. Bulletin No. 1309. 
February 7, 1914. 

(16) ———. Strikes and Lockouts, 1881-1905. ‘Twenty-first annual 
report, 1906. 

(17) Foster, William Z. The Great Steel Sirike and Its Lessons. New 
York, 1920. 

(18) Wolman, Leo. “The Boycott in American Trade Unions,” 
Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, 
Vol. XXXIV. Baltimore, 1916. 

(19) Laidler, Harry W. Boycotts and the Labor Struggle. Economic 
and legal aspects. With an introduction by Henry R. Seager. 
New York and London, ror4. 

(20) Hunter, Robert. Violence and the Labour Movement. New York, 
1914. [Bibliography.] 

(21) Case, Clarence M. Non-Violent Coercion. A study in methods 
of social pressure. New York, 1923. 


[See bibliography, ‘‘Social Unrest,” pp. 935-36.| 


C. Race Conflict 
1. Race Relations in General: 
(1) Bryce, James. The Relations of the Advanced and the Backward 
Races of Mankind. Oxford, 1903. 
(2) Simpson, Bertram L. The Conflict of Colour. The threatened 


upheaval throughout the world, by Weale, B. L. P. [pseud.]. 
London, 1gIo. 


654 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(3) Steiner, Jesse F. The Japanese Invasion. A study in the psy- 
chology of inter-racial contacts. Chicago, 1917. 

(4) Stoddard, T. Lothrop. The Rising Tide of Color against White 
World-Supremacy. New York, 1920. 

(s) Blyden, Edward W. Christianity, Islam, and the Negro Race. 
London, 1888. 

(6) Spiller, G., editor. Papers on Inter-racial Problems. Communi- 
cated to the First Universal Races Congress, London, torr, 
pp. 463-77. Boston, 1911. [Bibliography on Race Problems.] 

(7) Baker, Ray S. Following the Color Line. An account of Negro 
citizenship in the American democracy. New York, 1908. 

(8) Miller, Kelly. Race Adjustment. Essays on the Negro in 
America. New York, 1908. 

(9) Stephenson, Gilbert T. Race Distinctions in American Law. 
New York, rgto. 

(10) Mecklin, John M. Democracy and Race Friction. A study in 
social ethics. New York, ror4. 

(11) Evans, Maurice. Black and White in South East Africa. 
London, roit. 

(12) Black and White in the Southern States. A study of 
the race problem in the United States from a Soutn African 
point of view. London, rors. 

(13) Brailsford, H. N. Macedonia: Tis Races and Thew Future. 
London, 1906. 

(14) Means, Philip A. Racial Factors in Democracy. Boston, 1918. 





2. Race Friction and Race Prejudice: 


(x) Crawley, Ernest. The Mystic Rose. A study of primitive 
marriage. Pp. 33-58; 76-235. London, 1902. [Taboo as a 
mechanism for regulating contacts.] 

(2) Thomas, W.I. ‘The Psychology of Race-Prejudice,”’ American 
Journal of Sociology, TX (1903-4), 593-611. 

(3) Finot, Jean. Race Prejudice. Translated from the French by 
Florence Wade-Evans. London, 1906. 

(4) Pillsbury, W. B. The Psychology of N ationalit y and Inter- 
nationalism. Chap. iil, “Hate as a Social Force,” pp. 63-89. 

(s) Sheler, N. S. “Race Prejudices,’ Atlantic M Ps i LVIII 
(1886), 510-18. 

(6) Stone, Alfred H. Studies in the American Race Problem. 
Chap. vi, “Race Friction,” pp. 211-41. New York, 1908. 

(7) Mecklin, John M. Democracy and Race Friction. A study 
in social ethics. Chap. v, ‘‘Race-Prejudice,” pp. 123-56. New 
York, 1014. | 

(8) Belloc, Hilaire. Zhe Jews. London, 1922. 

(9) Heifetz, Elias. The Slaughter of the Jews in the Ukraine in ro79. 
New York, 1921. 

(10) Bailey, T. P. Race Orthodoxy in the South. And other aspects 
of the negro question. New York, ro14. 

(11) Parton, James. ‘‘Antipathy to the Negro,” North American 
Review, CX XVII (1878), 476-91. 


CONFLICT 655 


(12) Duncan, Sara Jeannette. “Eurasia,” Popular Science Monthly, 
XLII (1892), 1-9. 

(13) Morse, Josiah. ‘‘The Psychology of Prejudice,” International 
Journal of Ethics, XVII (1906-7), 490-506. 

(14) McDougall, William. An Introduction to Social Psychology. 
Chap. xi, “The Instinct of Pugnacity,” pp. 279-95; ‘“‘The 
Instinct of Pugnacity and the Emotion of Anger,” pp. 49-61. 
4th rev. ed. Boston, 1912. 

(15) Royce, Josiah. Race Questions, Provincialism, and Other 
American Problems. Chap. i, “Race Questions and Prejudices,” 
pp. 1-53. New York, 1908. 

(16) Thomas, W.I. “Race Psychology: Standpoint and Question- 
naire, with Particular Reference to the Immigrant and the 
Negro,’ ” American Journal of Sociology, XVII (1912-13), 725-7 5. 

(r7) Schoell, Franck L. La question des noirs aux Etats-Unis. 
Paris, 1923. 

(18) Park, Robert E. ‘‘Negro Race Consciousness as Reflected in 
Race Literature,” American Review, I, (1923), 505- 17. 

(19) Bryce, James. Race Sentiment as a Factor in History. 
London, I1g1t5s. 


3. Lynch Law and Lynching: 


(1) Walling, W. E. ‘The Race War in the North,” Independent, 
LXV (July—Sept., 1908), 529-34. 

(2) ‘‘The So-Called Race Riot at Springfield,” by an Eye Witness. 
Charities, XX (1908), 709-11. 

(3) Seligmann, H. J. ‘Race War?” New Republic, XX (19109), 
48-50. [The Washington race riot.] 

(4) Leonard, O. “The East St. Louis Pogrom,” Survey, XX XIII 
(1917), 331-33. 

(5) Sandburg,C. The Chicago Race Riots, July, 1919. New York, 1910. 

(6) Chicago Commission on Race Relations. The Negro in Chicago. 
Chicago, 1922. 

(7) Cutler, James E. Lynch-Law. An investigation into the history 
of lynching in the United States. New York, 1905. 

(8) National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. 
Thirty Years of Lynching in the United States, 1899-1918. New 
hY OTK, -YO10.- 

Burning at Stake in the United States. A record of 

the public burning by mobs of six men, during the first six months 

of 1919, in the states of Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Mississippi, 
and Texas. New York, ro1g. 





D. Feuds 

(1) Miklosich, Franz. Die Blutrache bei den Slaven. Wien, 1887. 

(2) Johnston, C. “The Land of the Blood Feud,” Harper’s Weekly, 
LVL (Jan-er1, 1913); 42. 

(3) Davis, H., and Smyth, C. “The Land of Feuds,” Munsey’s, 
XXX (1903-4), 161-72. 

(4) “‘Avenging Her Father’s Death,” Literary Digest, XLV (November 
9, 1912), 864-70. 


656 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(5) Campbell, John C. The Southern Highlander and His Homeland, 
pp. 110-13. New York, 1g2r. 

(6) Wermert, Georg. Die Insel Sicilien, in volkswirtschaftlicher, 
kultureller, and sozialer Beziehung. Chap. xxvii, “‘ Volkscharacter 
und Mafia.” Berlin, rgor. 

(7) Heijningen, Hendrik M. K. van. Het Straf- en Wraakrecht in den 
Indischen Archipel. Leiden, 1916. \ 

(8) Steinmetz, S. R. Ethnologische Studien zur ersten Entwicklung 
der Strafe, nebst einer psychologischen Abhandlung tiber Grausamkeit 
und Rachsucht. 2 vols. Leiden, 1894. 

(9) Wesnitsch, Milenko R. Die Blutrache bet den Siidslaven. Ein 
Beitrag zur Geschichte des Strafrechts. Stuttgart, 1889. 

(10) Bourde, Paul. En Corse. L’esprit de clan—les mceurs politiques 
—les vendettas—le banditisme. Correspondances adressées au 
“Temps.”’ Cinquiéme édition. Paris, 1906. 

(11) Dorsey, J. Owen. “Omaha Sociology,” chap. xii, “The Law,” 
sec. 310, “Murder,” p. 369. In Third Annual Report of the U.S. 
Bureau of American Ethnology, r881-S82. Washington, 1884. 

(12) Woods, A. ‘‘The Problem of the Black Hand,’ McClure’s, 
XXXITI (1909), 40-47. 

(13) Park, Robert E., and Miller, Herbert A. Old World Traits Trans- 
planted. New York, 1921. [See pp. 241-58 for details of rise and 
decline of Black Hand in New York.] 

(14) White, F. M. ‘‘The Passing of the Black Hand,” Century, XCV, 
Diro73 (1907=18)5a31 37 

(15) Cutrera, A. La Mafia e i mafiost. Origini e manifestazioni. 
Studio di sociologia criminale, con una carta a colori su la densita 
della Mafia in Sicilia. Palermo, 1900. 


E. The Duel and the Ordeal of Battle 


(1) Millingen, J. G. The History of Duelling. Including narrative of 
the most remarkable personal encounters that have taken place 
from the earliest period to the present time. 2 vols. London, 184r. 

(2) Steinmetz, Andrew. The Romance of Duelling in All Times and 
Countries. London, 1868. 

(3) Sabine, Lorenzo. Notes on Duels and Duelling. Boston, 1855. 

(4) Glotz, Gustave. ‘‘Les ordalies en Gréce,” Revue historique, XC 
(1905), I-17. 

(5) Patetta, F. Le Ordalie. Studio di storia del diritto e scienza del 
diritto comparato. Turino, 1890. 

(6) Lea, Henry C. Superstition and Force. Essays on the wager of 
law, the wager of battle, the ordeal, torture. 4th ed., rev. Phila- 
delphia, 1892. 

(7) Neilson, George. Trial by Combat. In Great Britain. Glasgow 
and London, 1890. 


[See bibliography, “Ancient and Primitive Law,” pp. 860-61.] 


F. Games and Gambling 


(1) Culin, Stewart. “Street Games of Boys in Brooklyn, N.Y.,” 
The Journal of American Folk-Lore, TV (1891), 221-37. 





CONFLICT 657 


(2) 





Korean Games. With notes on the corresponding games 

of China and Japan. Philadelphia, 1895. 

. “Games of the North American Indians,” Twenty-fourth 
Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1902-3. Wash- 
ington, 1907. 

(4) Steinmetz, Andrew. The Gaming Table: Its Votaries and Victims, 
in All Times and Countries, Especially in England and in France. 
London, 1870. 

(5) Thomas, W. I. ‘The Gaming Instinct,” American Journal of 
Sociology, VI (1900-1901), 750-63. 

(6) O’Brien, Frederick. White Shadows in the South Seas. Chap. xxii, 
pp. 240-48. [Memorable Game for Matches in the Cocoanut Grove 
of Lano Kaioo.] 





III. CONFLICT GROUPS 
A. Gangs 


(1) Johnson, John H. Rudimentary Society Among Boys. “Johns 
Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science,” 
2d series, XI, 491-546. Baltimore, 1884. 

(2) Puffer, J. Adams. The Boy and His Gang. Boston, 1912. 

(3) Sheldon, H. D., “Institutional Activities of American Children,” 
American Journal of Psychology, 1X (1899), 425-48. 

(4) Thurston, Henry W. Delinquency and Spare Time. A study of a 
few stories written into the court records of the city of Cleveland. 
Cleveland, Ohio, 1918. 

(5) Woods, Robert A., editor. The City Wilderness. A settlement 
study by residents and associates of the South End House. Chap. 
vi, “The Roots of Political Power,” pp. 114-47. Boston, 1808. 

(6) Hoyt,F.C. ‘The Gang in Embryo,” Scribner’s, LX VIII (1920), 146- 
54. [Presiding justice of the Children’s Court of the city of New York.] 

(7) Boyhood and Lawlessness. Chap. iv, “His Gangs,” pp. 39-54. 
Russell Sage Foundation, New York, 1914. 

(8) Culin, Stewart. ‘‘Street Games of Boys in Brooklyn, N.Y.,” 
The Journal of American Folklore, IV (1891), 221-37. [For observa- 
tions on gangs see p. 235.] 

(9) Adams, Brewster. ‘“‘The Street Gang as a Factor in Politics,” 
Outlook, LX XIV (1903), 985-88. 

(10) Lane, W. D. “The Four Gunmen,” The Survey, XXXII (1914), 
13-10. 

(11) Rhodes, J. F. ‘The Molly Maguires in the Anthracite Region 
of Pennsylvania,” American Historical Review, XV (1909-10), 
547-61. 

(12) Train, Arthur. “Imported Crime: The Story of the Camorra 
in America,” McClure’s, XX XIX (1912), 82-94. 

B. Sects 


(1) Nordhoff, Charles. The Communistic Societies of the United States 
from Personal Visit and Observation. Including chapters on “‘The 
Amana Society,’ ‘The Separatists of Zoar,’’ ‘‘The Shakers,” 
“The Oneida and Wallingford Perfectionists,’ “‘The Aurora and 
Bethel Communes.” New York, 1875. 


658 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(2) Gillin, John L. The Dunkers: A Sociological Interpretation. 
New York, 1906. [Columbia University dissertation, V, 2.] 

(3) Milmine, Georgine. The Life of Mary Baker G. Eddy and the 
History of Christian Science. New York, 1909. 

(4) Gehring, Johannes. Die Sekten der russischen Kirche, 1003-1897. 
Nach ihrem Ursprunge und inneren Zusammenhange dargestellt. 
Leipzig, 1808. 

(5) Grass, K. K. Die russischen Sekten. I, “‘Die Gottesleute oder 
Chliisten”; II, “Die weissen Tauben oder Skopzen.” Leipzig, 
1907-9. 

(6) Lea, Henry Charles. The Moriscos of Spain. Their conversion 
and expulsion. Philadelphia, rgor. 

(7) Friesen, P. M. Geschichte der alt-evangelischen mennoniten Briider- 
schaft in Russland (1789-1910) im Rahmen der mennonitischen 
Gesamtgeschichte. Halbstadt, rort. 

(8) Kalb, Ernst. Kirchen und Sekten der Gegenwart. Unter Mitarbeit 
verschiedener evangelischer Theologen. Stuttgart, 1905. 

(9) Blanchard, R.H. ‘Notes on Egyptian Saints,” Harvard African 
Studies, I (1917), 182-92. 

(10) Mathiez, Albert. Les origines des cultes révolutionnaires. (1789- 
92.) Paris, 1904. 

(11) Rossi, Pasquale. Mistici e Settarii. Studio di psicopatologia 
collettiva. Milan, 1900. 

(12) Rohde, Erwin. Psyche: Seelencult und Unsterblichkeitsglaube der 
Griechen. Freiburg, 1890. 


C. Economic Conflict Groups 
(1) Webb, Sidney and Beatrice. Industrial Democracy. London, 1897. 
(2) The History of Trade Unionism. (Revised edition 
extended to 1920.) New York and London, 1920. 
(3) Commons, John R., editor. Trade Unionism and Labor Problems, 
Boston, 1905. 
History of Labor in the United States. 2 vols. New 
ipey Ork. Tors: 
(5) Groat, George G. An Introduction to the Study of Organized Labor 
in America. New York, 10916. 
(6) Hoxie,R.F. Trade Unionism in the United States. New York, 1017. 
(7) Marot, Helen. American Labor Unions. By a member. New 
York, 1914. 
(8) Carlton, Frank T. Organized Labor in American History. New 
York, 1920. 
(9) Levine, Louis. Syndicalism in France. 2d rev. ed. of The Labor 
Movement in France. New York and London, ror4. 
(10) Brissenden, Paul Frederick. The I.W.W., A Study of American 
Syndicalism. New York, 1919. [Bibliography.] j 
(11) Brooks, John Graham. American Syndicalism; the 1.W.W. New 
York, 1913. 
(12) Labor’s Challenge to the Social Order. Democracy its 
own critic and educator. New York, 1920. 
(13) Baker, Ray Stannard. The New Industrial Unrest. Reasons and 
remedies. New York, 1920. 








(4) 





CONFLICT 659 


(14) Commons, John R. Industrial Democracy. New York, 10921. 
(15) Brentano, Lujo. On the History and Development of Gilds and the 
Origin of Trade Unions. London, 1870. 


D. Parties 


(x) Bluntschli, Johann K. Charakter und Geist der politischen Parteien. 
Nordlingen, 1869. 

(2) Ostrogorskii, Moisei. Democracy and the Organization of Political 
Parties. Translated from the French by F. Clarke with a preface 
by Right Hon. James Bryce. New York and London, 1902. 

(3) Lowell, A. Lawrence. Governments and Parties in Continental 
Europe. 2 vols. Boston, 1806. 

(4) Merriam, Charles E. The American Party System. An introduc- 
tion to the study of political parties in the United States. New 
York, 1922. 

(5) Haynes, F.E. Third Party Movements since the Civil War, with Special 
Reference to Towa. A study in social politics. Iowa City, 1916. 

(6) Ray, P. O. An Introduction to Political Parties and Practical 
Politics. New York, 1913. 

(7) Bryce, James. The American Commonwealth. 2 vols. New rev. 
eden New York, 101T. 

(8) Hadley, Arthur T. Undercurrents in American Politics. Being the 
Ford Lectures, delivered at Oxford University, and the Barbour- 
Page Lectures, delivered at the University of Virginia in the spring 
of 1914. New Haven, 1o15. 

(9) Lowell, A. Lawrence. Annual Report of the American Historical 
Association, rg01. 2vols. ‘The Influence of Party upon Legisla- 
tion in England and America” (with four diagrams), I, 319-542. 
Washington, 1902. 

(10) Beard, Charles A. Economic Origins of Jeffersonian Democracy. 
New York, ro15. 

(11) Morgan, W. T. English Political Parties and Leaders in the 
Reign of Queen Anne, 1702-1710. New Haven, 1920. 

(12) Michels, Robert. Political Parties. A sociological study of the 
oligarchical tendencies of modern democracy. Translated by 
Eden and Cedar Paul. New York, to15. 

(13) Haines, Lynn. Your Congress. An interpretation of the political 
and parliamentary influences that dominate law-making in America. 
Washington, D.C., 1915. 

(14) Hichborn, Franklin. Story of the Sesston of the California Legisla- 
ture. San Francisco, 1909, 1911, 1913, IQIS. 

(15) Myers, Gustavus. The History of Tammany Hall. 2d ed. rev. 
and enl. New York, 1917. 

(16) Roosevelt, Theodore. An Autobiography. New York, 1913. 

(17) Platt, Thomas C. Autobiography. Compiled and edited by 
Louis J. Lang. New York, rg1o. 

(18) Older, Fremont. My Own Story. San Francisco, 19109: 

(19) Orth, Samuel P. The Boss and the Machine. A chronicle of the 
politicians and party organization. New Haven, rg19. 


660 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(20) Riordon, William L. Plunkitt of Tammany Hall. A series of 
very plain talks on very practical politics, delivered by ex-Senator 
George Washington Plunkitt, the Tammany philosopher, from his 
rostrum—the New York County Court House boot-black stand. 
New York, 1905. 

(21) Gosnell, H.F. Boss Platt and His New York Machine. A study of 
the political leadership of Thomas C. Platt, Theodore Roosevelt, 
and others. With an introduction by C. E. Merriam, Chicago, 1924. 


E. Nationalities 


(1) Oakesmith, John. Race and Nationality. An inquiry into the 
origin and growth of patriotism. New York, 1919. 

(2) Lillehei, Ingebrigt. ‘‘Landsmaal and the Language Movement 
in Norway,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology, XIII 
(1914), 60-87 

(3) Morris, fibyd R. The Celtic Dawn. A survey of the renascence 
in Treland, 1889-1916. New York, 1o17. 

(4) Keith, Arthur. Nationality and Race from an Anthropologist’s 
Point of View. London, rg19. 

(5s) Barnes, Harry E. ‘Nationality and Historiography” in the 
article “‘History, Its Rise and Development,” Encyclopedia Ameri- 
cana, XIV, 234-43. 

(6) Fisher, H. A. “French Nationalism,” Hzbbert Journal, XV 
(1916-17), 217-29. 

(7) Ellis, H. ‘‘The Psychology of the English,” Edinburgh Review, 
CCXXIII (April, 1916), 223-43. 

(8) Bevan, Edwyn R. Indian Nationalism. An independent esti- 
mate. London, 1913. 

(9) Le Bon, Gustave. The Psychology of Peoples. London, 1898. 

(10) Francke, K. ‘‘The Study of National Culture,” Atlantic Monthly, 
XCIX (1907), 409-16. 

(11) Auerbach, Bertrand. Les races et nationalités en Autriche-H ongrte. 
Deuxiéme édition revisée. Paris, 1917. 

(12) Butler, Ralph. The New Eastern Europe. London, torg. 

(13) Kerlin, Robert T. The Voice of the Negro r919. New York, 1920. 
[A compilation from the colored press of America for the four 
months immediately succeeding the Washington riots.] 

(14) Boas, F. ‘‘ Nationalism,” Dial, LX VI (March 8, 1919), 232-37. 

(15) Buck, Carl D. “Language and the Sentiment of Nationality,” 
The American Political Science Review, X (1916), 44-—69. 

(16) McLaren, A.D. “National Hate,” Hibbert Journal, XV (1916-17), 

407-18. 

(17) M iller, Herbert A. ‘“‘The Rising National Individualism,” Pubdli- 
cations of the American Sociological Society, VIII (1913), 49-65. 

(18) Zimmern, Alfred E. Nationality and Government. With other 
wartime essays. London and New York, 1918. 

(19) Small, Albion W. “Bonds of Nationality,” American Journal of 
Sociology, XX (1915-16), 629-83. 

(20) Faber, Geoffrey. ‘The War and Personality in Nations,” 
Fortnightly Review, CIII (1915), 538-46. Also in Living Age, 
CCLXXXV (1915), 265-72. . 


Oo Omar An 


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CONFLICT 661 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. The History of Conflict as a Sociological Concept 
. Types of Conflict: War, the Duello, Litigation, Gambling, the Feud, 


Discussion, etc. 


. Conflict Groups: Gangs, Labor Organizations, Sects, Parties, Nation- 


alities, etc. 


. Mental Conflicts and the Development of Personality 

. Sex Differences in Conflict 

. Subtler Forms of Conflict: Rivalry, Emulation, Jealousy, Aversion, etc. 
. Personal Rivalry in Polite Society 

. Conflict and Social Status 

. The Strike as an Expression of the Wish for Recognition 

IO. 


Popular Justice: the History of the Molly Maguires, of the Night 
Riders, etc. 

The Sociology of Race Prejudice 

Race Riots in the North and the South 


War as an Action Pattern, Biological or Social ? 
War as a Form of Relaxation 


The Great War Interpreted by Personal Documents 
Conflict and Social Organization 
Conflict and Social Progress 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. How do you differentiate between competition and conflict ? 

. Is conflict always conscious ? 

. How do you explain the emotional interest in conflict ? 

. In your opinion, are the sexes in about the same degree interested in 


conflict ? 


. In what way do you understand Simmel to relate conflict to 


the social process ? 


6. What are the interrelations of war and social contacts ? 
7. “Without aversion life in a great city would have no thinkable form.” 


I4. 


Explain. 


. “It is advantageous to hate the opponent with whom one is struggling ” 


Explain. 


. Give illustrations of feuds not mentioned by Simmel. 
IO. 
erie 
12 


127 


How do you distinguish between feuds and litigation ? 

What examples occur to you of conflicts of impersonal ideals ? 

What are the psychological causes of war ? 

“We may see in war the preliminary process of rejuvenescence.”’ 
Explain. 

Has war been essential to the process of social adjustment? Is it 
still essential ? 


662 


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26. 


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39. 
40. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What do you understand by war as a form of relaxation ? 

How do you interpret Professor James’s reaction to the Chautauqua ? 
What is the réle of conflict in recreation ? 

Is it possible to provide psychic equivalents for war? 

What application of the sociological theory of the relation of ideals 
to instinct would you make to war? 

How do you distinguish rivalry from competition and conflict ? 

What bearing have the facts of animal rivalry upon an understanding 
of rivalry in human society ? 

What are the different devices by which the group achieves and main- 
tains solidarity? How many of these were characteristic of the war- 
time situation ? 

What are the common characteristics of gangs ? 

By what process is the gang incorporated in the political organization ? 
What do you understand by Giddings’ distinction between cultural 
conflicts and “‘logical duels” ? 

Have you reason for thinking that cultural conflicts will play a lesser 
réle in the future than in the past ? 


. To what extent was the world-war a cultural conflict ? 
. Under what circumstances do social. contacts make (a) for conflict, 


and (6) for co-operation ? 


. What has-been the effect of the extension of communication upon the 


relations of nations? Elaborate. 

What do you understand by race prejudice as a 
stinctive defense-reaction” ? ) 

To what extent is race prejudice based upon race competition ? 

Do you believe that it is possible to remove the causes of race prejudice ? 
In what ways does race conflict make for race consciousness ? 

What are the different elements or forces in the interaction of races 
making for race conflict and race consciousness P 

Is a heightening of race consciousness of value or of disadvantage to 
a racial group ? 

How do you explain the present tendency of the Negro to substitute 
the copying of colored models for the imitation of white models? 


“more or less in- 


. “In the South, the races seem to be tending in the direction of a bi- 


racial organization of society, in which the Negro is gradually gaining 
a limited autonomy.” Interpret. 

“All racial problems are distinctly problems of racial distribution.” 
Explain with reference to relative proportion of Negroes, Chinese, 
and Japanese in certain sections of the United States. 

Why have few or no race riots occurred in the South ? 

Under what circumstances have race riots occurred in the North ? 








CHAPTER (x | 


ACCOMMODATION 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Adaptation and Accommodation 


The term adaptation came into vogue with Darwin’s theory of 
the origin of the species by natural selection. This theory was based 
upon the observation that no two nee of a biological species or 
of a family are ever exactly alike. Everywhere there is variation and 
individuality. Darwin’s theory assumed this variation and explained - 
the species as the result of natural selection. ‘The individuals best 
fitted to live under the conditions of life which the environment offered, 
survived and produced the existing species. The others perished and 
the species which they represented disappeared. ‘The differences in 
the species were explained as the result of the@ceumulation} and per- 
petuation of the individual variations which had “survival value.” 
Adaptations were the variations which had been in this way selected 
and transmitted. 

The term accommodation is a kindred concept with a slightly 
different meaning. The distinction is that adaptation is applied to 
organic modifications which are transmitted biologically; whi 
nceofamnedation ia used with reference ¥CEaMESS Ta habit, which are , 
transmitted e_transmi sociologically, that Is, J = 
£0 ‘socis itor. é term first used in this sense by Baldwin 
is defined in the Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology. 

In view of modern biological theory and discussion, two modes of 
adaptation should be distinguished: (a) adaptation through variation 
fhereditary]; (6)..adaptation through modification [acquired]. For the 
functional adjustment of the individual to its environment [(b) above] 
J. Ma as suggested the term “accommodation,” recommending 

that a confined to the structural adjustments which are con- 
i [(e) above]. The term “accommodation” applies to 


663 








. | 


664 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


any acquired alteration of function resulting in better adjustment to 
environment and to the functional changes which are thus effected.? 

The term accommodation, while it has a limited field of applica- 
tion in biology, has a wide and varied use in sociology. All the social 
heritages, traditions, sentiments, culture, technique, are accommo- 
dations—that is, acquired adjustments that are socially and not 
biologically transmitted. They are not a part of the racial inheritance 
of the individual, but are acquired by the person in social experience. 
The two conceptions are further distinguished in this, that adaptation 
is an effect of competition, while accommodation, or more properly 
social accommodation, is the result of conflict, 

The outcome of the adaptations and accommodations, which the 
struggle for existence enforces, is a state of relative equilibrium 
among the competing species-and individual members of these species. . 
The equilibrium which is established by adaptation- is biological, 
which means that, in so far as it is permanent and fixed in the race 
or the species, it will be transmitted by biological inheritance. 

The equilibrium based on accommodation, howeyer, ismot bio- 
‘logical; it is economic and social and is transmitted, if at all, by - 
tradition. The nature of the economic equilibrium which results 
from competition has been fully described in chapter viii. The plant 
community is this equilibrium in its absolute form. 

In animal and human societies the community has, so to speak, 
become incorporated in the individual members of the group. The 
individuals are adapted to a specific type of communal life, and these 
adaptations, in animal as distinguished from human societies, dre 
represented in the division of labor between the sexes, in the instincts 
which secure the protection and welfare of the young, in the so,called 
(gregar ious instinct) and all these represent traits that are transmitted 
biologically. But huaan societies, although providing for the expres- 
sion of original tendencies, are o1ganized about tradition, mores, col- 
lective representations, in short, consensus. And consensus repre- 
sents, not biological adaptations, but social accommodations. 

Social organization, with the exception of the order based on 
competition and adaptation, is essentially an» accommodation-of—— 
differences through, conflicts. This fact explains why diverse- ~ 
mindedness rather than like-mindedness is characteristic of human as 


* Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, I, 15,8. 


— 





| ACCOMMODATION | 665 


distinguished from animal society. Professor Cooley’s statement of 
this point is clear: 


The unity of the social mind consists not in agreement but in organiza- 
tion, in the fact of reciprocal influence or causation among its parts, by 
virtue of which everything that takes place in it is connected with every- 
thing else, and so is an outcome of the whole.t 


The distinction between accommodation and adaptation is illus- 
trated in the differeace between domestication and taming. Through 
domestication and breeding man has modified the original inheritable 
traits of plants and animals. He has changed the character of the 
species. Through taming, individuals of species naturally in conflict 
with man have become accommodated to him. Eugenics may be 
regarded as a program of biological-adaptation of the human race in 
conscious realization of social ideals. ear ation, on the other hand, 
represents a program of accommodation or an organization, modifica- 
tion, and culture of original traits. 

Every society represents an organization of elements more or less 
antagonistic to each other but united for the moment, at least, by an 
arrangement which defines the reciprocal relations and respective 
spheres of action of each. This accommodation, this modus vivendi, 
may be relatively permanent as in a society constituted by castes, or 
quite transitory as in societies made up of open classes. In either 
case, the accommodation, while it is maintained,Secures for the 
individual or for the group a recognized status. 

Accommodation is is the natural issue of conflicts. In an accommo- 
dain the antagonism of the hostile elements i is, for the time being, 

lated, jae. conflict disappears as overt action, although it remains 
potential force. With a change in the situation, the 
at had hitherto successfully held in control the Bitawee 
ils.’ There is confusion and unrest which may issue 
ct. Conflict, whether a war or a strike or a mere 
lite innuendoes, invariably issues in a new accommoda- 
yrder, which in general involves a changed status in the 
1g the participants. It is only with assimilation that 
, latent in the organization of individuals or groups, 
wholly dissolved. 


nization, P- 4- 



















ra 


666 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


p Classification of the Materials 


The selections on accommodation in the materials are organized 
under the following heads: (@) forms of accommodation; (0) sub- 
ordination and superordinatign; (c) conflict and accommodation; 
and (d) competition, status, and social solidarity. 


/ @) Forms of accommodation.—There are many forms of accommo- 


dation. One of the most subtle is that which in human geography is 
called atclimati ation, “accommodation to new climatic conditions.” 
Recent studies like those of Huntington in his “Climate and Civili- 
zation’’ have emphasized the effects of climate upon human behavior. 
The selection upon acclimatization by Brinton states the problems 
involved in the adjustment of racial groups to different climatic 
environments. ‘The answers which he gives to the questions raised are 
not to be regarded as conclusive but only as representative of one school 
of investigators and as contested by other authorities in this field. 

NatuMlization, which in its original sense means the process by 
which a person is made “‘natural,’’ that is, familiar and at home in a 
strange social milieu, is a term used in America to describe the legal 
process by which a foreigner acquires the rights of citizenship. Natu- 
ralization, as a social process, is naturally something more fundamental 
than the legal ceremony of naturalization. It includes accommoda- 
tion to the folkways, the mores, the conventions, and the social 
ritual (Sztilichkeit). It assumes also participation, to a certain 
extent at least, in the memories, the tradition, and the culture of a 
new social group. The proverb “In Rome do as the Romans do” is 
a basic principle of naturalization. The cosmopolitan is the person 
who readily accommodates himself to the codes of conduct of new 
social milieus." 


t A teacher in the public schools of Chicago came in possession of the follow- 
ing letter written to a friend in Mississippi by a Negro boy who had come to 
the city from the South two months previously. It iliustrates his rapid accommo- 


dation to the situation including the hostile Irish group (the Wentworth Avenue _ 


““Mickeys’’). 


Dear leon I write to you—to let you hear fron me—Boy you dont know the time 
we have with Sled. it Snow up here Regular. We Play foot Ball. But Now we 
have So much Snow we dont Play foot Ball any More. We Rideon Sled. Boy I 
have a Sled call The king of The hill and She king to. tell Mrs. Sara that Coln 
Roscoe Conklin Simon Spoke at St Mark the church we Belong to. 

Gus I havnt got chance to Beat But to Boy. Sack,» We show’Runs them 
Mickeys. Boy them scoundle is bad on Wentworth Avenue. “4 

Add 31234 Breton St Chi ill. 


{ 
} 


ACCOMMODATION 667 


Whe difficulty of social accommodation to a new social milieu 
is not always fully appreciated. The literature on homesickness and 
nostalgia indicates the emotional dependence of the person upon 
familiar associations and upon early intimate personal relations. 
Leaving home for the first time, the intense lonesomeness of the rural 
lad in the crowds of the city, the perplexity of the immigrant in the 
confusing maze of strange, and to him inexplicable, customs are 
common enough instances of the personal and social barriers to 
naturalization. But the obstacles to most social adjustments for a 
person in a new social world are even more baffling because of their 
subtle and intangible nature. | 

Just as in biology balance represents “a state of relatively good 
adjustment due to structural adaptation of the organism as a whole” 
so accommodation, when applied to groups rather than individuals, 
signifies their satisfactory co-ordination from the standpoint of the 
inclusive social organization: 

Historically, the organization of the more inclusive society— 
i.e., states, confederations, empires, social and political units com- 
posed of groups accommodated but not fully assimilated—presents 
four typical constellations of the component group. Primitive society 
was an organization of kinship groups. Ancient society was com- 
posed of masters'and slaves, with some special form of accommodation 
for the freeman and the stranger, who was not a citizen, to be sure, 
but was not a slave either. 


Medieval society rested upon a system of class, approaching castes , 
in the distances it enforced. - In all these different situations compe-— 


tition took place only between individuals of the same status. 

In contrast with this, modern society is made up of economic and 
social classes with freedom of economic competition and freedom in 
passage, therefore, from one class to the other. 

b) Subordination and superordination.—Accommodation, in the 
area of personal relations, tends to take the form of subordination 
and superordination. Even where accommodation has been imposed, 
as in the case of slavery, by force, the personal relations of master 
and slave are invariably supported by appropriate attitudes and senti- 
ments. The selection “Excerpts from the Journal of a West India 
Slave Owner” is a convincing exhibit of the way in which attitudes 
of superordination and subordination may find expression in the 
sentiments of a conscientious and self-complacent paternalism on the 





— 





668 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


part of the master and of an ingratiating and reverential loyalty on 
the part of the slave. In a/jlike manner the selection from ; the 
“Memories of an Old Servant?’ indicates the natural way in which 
sentiments of subordination which have grown up in conformity with 
an accepted situation eventually become the basis of a life-philosophy 
of the person. ( 

lavery and caste are manifestly forms of accommodation. ‘The 
facts of subordination are quite as real, though not as obvious, in 
other phases of social life.” The peculiar intimacy which exists, for 
example, between lovers; between husband and wife, or between 
physician and patient, involves relations of subordination and super- 
ordination, though not recognized as such. The personal domination 
which a coach exercises over the members of a ball team, a minister 
over his congregation, the political leader over his party followers are 
instances of the same phenomena. 

Simmel in his interesting discussion of the subject points out the 
fact that the) relations of subordination and superordination are 
reciprocal. | In order to impose his will upon his slaves it was neces- 
sary for the master to retain their respect. No one had a keener 
appreciation of the aristocracy nor a greater scorn for the “poor 
white” than the Negro slaves in the South before the war. 

The leader of the gang, although he seems to have decisions 
absolutely in his hand, has a sense of the attitudes of his followers. 
So the successful political leader, who sometimes appears to be taking 


Rab risks in his advocacy of new issues, keeps “his ear close to the grass 
roots of public opinion.” 


In the selection upon “The Psychology of Subordination and 
Superordination” Miinsterberg interprets/ suggestion, imitation, and 
sympathy in terms of domination and submission. Personal influence, 
prestige, and authority, in whatever form they find expression, are 
based, to a greater or less extent, on the subtle influences of suggestion.7 

' The natural affections are social bonds which not infrequently 
assume the form of bondage. Many a mother has been reduced to a 
condition of abject subjection through her affection for a son or a 
-daughter,/ The same thing is notoriously true of the relations between 
the sexes. It is in social complexes of this sort, rather than in the 
formal procedures of governments, that we must look for the funda- 
mental mechanism of social control. 





ACCOMMODATION 669 


The conflicts and accommodations of persons with persons and 
of groups with groups have their prototypes in the conflicts and accom- 
modations of the wishes of the person. The conflicts and accommo- 
dations in the mental life of the person have received the name in 
psychoanalysis of sublimation. The sublimation of a wish means its 


expression in a form which represents an 1 accommodation with another — 


conflicting wish | which had repressed the original response of the first 


-wish. The progressive organization of personality depends upon the 
successful functioning of this process of sublimation: )The wishes of 


the person at birth are inchoate; with mental development these 
wishes come into conflict with each other and with the enveloping 
social milieu. Adolescence is peculiarly the period of “storm and 
stress.”” Youth lives in a maze of mental conflicts, of insurgent and 
aspiring wishes. (Conversion is the sudden mutation of life-attitudes 
through a reorganization or transformation of the wishes. ' 

c) Conflict and accommodation—The intrinsic relation between 
conflict and accommodation is stated in the materials by Simmel in 
his analysis of war and peace and the problems of compromise. 
¥ The situations existing in aie of peace are precisely the conditions * 
out of which war. emerges.”” War, on the other hand, brings about « 
the adjustments in the relations of competing and conflict groups< 
which make peace possible.4yThe problem, therefore, must find a+ 
solution in some method by’ which the conflicts which are latent in,’ 
or develop out of, the conditions of peace may be adjusted without ar 
resort to war.| In so far as war is an effect of the mere inhibitions‘ 
which the conditions of peace impose, substitutes for war must pro- 
vide, as William James has suggested, for the expression of the 
expanding energies of individuals and nations in ways that will con- 
tribute to the welfare of the community and eventually of mankind 
asa whole. The intention is to make life more interesting and at « 
the same time more secure. — ‘ 

The difficulty is that the devices which render life more secure’ 
frequently make it less interesting and harder to bear. Competition, 
the struggle for existence and for, what is often more important than 
" mere existence, namely, s status, may become so bitter that peace is 
unendurable. 

More than that\under the condition of peace, peoples whose life-- 
habits and traditions have been formed upon a basis of war, 





670 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


frequently multiply under conditions of peace to such an extent as to 

' make an ultimate war inevitableg The natives of South Africa, 
since the tribal wars have cotect ace so increased in numbers as 
, to be an increasing menace to the white population. /Any ameliora- 
‘tion of the condition of mankind that tends to disturb the racial 
‘equilibrium is likely to disturb the peace of nationsf When represen- 
tatives of the Rockefeller Medical Foundation proposed to introduce 
a rational system of medicine in China, certain of the wise men of that 
country, it is reported, shook their heads dubiously over the conse- 
quences that were likely to follow any large decrease in the death- 
rate, seeing that China was already overpopulated. 

In the same way education, which is now in p way to become a 
heritage of all mankind, rather than the privilege of so-called superior 
peoples, undoubtedly has had the effect of greatly increasing the 
mobility and restlessness of the world’s population. In so far as this 
is true, it has made the problem of maintaining peace more difficult 
and dangerous. 

On the other hand, education and the extension of intelligence 
undoubtedly increase the possibility of compromise and conciliation 
which, as Simmel points out, represent ways in which peace may be 
restored and maintained other than by complete victory and subjuga- 
tion of the conquered people. It is considerations of this kind that 
have led men like von Moltke to say that “universal peace is a 
dream and not even a happy one,” and have led other men like 
Carnegie to build peace palaces in which the nations of the world 
might settle their differences by compromise and according to law. 

d) Competition, status, and social solidarity——Under the title 
“Competition, Status, and Social Solidarity” selections are intro- 
duced in the materials which emphasize the relation of competition 
to accommodation. Up to this point in the materials only the 
relations of conflict to accommodation have been considered. Status 
has been described as an effect of conflict. But it is clear that 
economic competition frequently becomes conscious and so passes 
over into some of the milder forms of conflict. Aside from this it 
is evident that‘competition in so far as it determines the vocation 
of the individual, determines indirectly also his status, since it 
determines the class of which he is destined to be a member. In 
the same way competition is indirectly responsible for the organiza- 


ACCOMMODATION 671 





groups / ocial type 
competition, since most of them are is soe The social types 
of the modern city, as indicated by the selection on “ Personal Compe- 
tition and the Evolution of Individual Types,” are an outcome of the 
division of labor. Durkheim points out that the_division of labor 
in multiplying the vocations has _increased_and not diminished the 
unity of society. The interdependence of differentiated individuals 
and groups has made possible a social solidarity that otherwise 
would not exist. fo 
vo 


A. FORMS OF ACCOMMODATION 
1. Acclimatization’ 

The most important ethnic question in connection with climate is 
that of the possibility of a race adapting itself to climatic conditions 
widely different from those to which it has been accustomed. This is 
the question of acclimatization. 

Its bearings on ethnic psychology can be made at once evident by 
posing a few practical inquiries: Can the English people flourish in 
India? Will the French colonize successfully the Sudan? Have the 
Europeans lost or gained in power by their migration to the United 


States? Can the white or any other race ultimately become the sole 


residents of the globe? 

It will be seen that on the answers to such questions depends the 
destiny of races and the consequences to the species of the facilities 
of transportation offered by modern inventions. The subject has 
therefore received the careful study of medical geographers and 
statisticians. 

I can give but g,brief statement of their conclusions. They are 
to the effect, first’ that when the migration takes place along 
approximately the same isothermal lines, the changes in the system 
are slight; but as the mean annual temperature rises, the body 
’ becomes increasingly unable to resist its deleterious action until a 
difference of 18° F. is reached, at which continued existence of the 


1 From Daniel G. Brinton, The Basis of Social Relations, pp. 194-99. (Cour- 
tesy of G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London, 1902.) 


I, MATERIALS ee 


i. 2 a / 


672 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


more northern races becomes impossible. They suffer from a chemical 
change in the condition of the blood cells, leading to anemia in the 
individual and to extinction of the lineage in the third generation. 

This is the general law of the relation to race and climate. Like 
most laws it has its exceptions, depending on special conditions. A 
stock which has long been accustomed to change of climate adapts 
itself to any with greater facility. This explains the singular readiness 
of the Jews to settle and flourish in’all zones. For a similar reason a 
people who at home are accustomed to a climate of wide and sudden 
changes, like that of the eastern United States, supports others with 
less loss of power than the average. 

A locality may be extremely hot but unusutlly free from other 
malefic influences, being dry with regular and moderate winds, and 
well drained, such as certain areas between the Red Sea and the Nile, 
which are also quite salubrious. 

Finally, certain individuals and certain families, owing to some 
fortunate power of resistance which we cannot explain, acclimate 
successfully where their companions perish. Most of the instances 
of alleged successful acclimatization of Europeans in the tropics are 
due to such exceptions, the far greater number of the victims being 
left out of the count. 

If these alleged successful cases, or that of the Jews or Arabs, be 
closely examined, it will almost surely be discovered that another 
physiological element has been active in bringing about acclimatiza- 
tion, and that is the mingling of blood with the native race. In the 
American tropics the Spaniards have survived for four centuries; 
but how many of the Ladinos can truthfully claim an unmixed 
descent? In Guatemala, for example, says a close observer, not any. 
The Jews of the Malabar coast have actually become black, and so 
has also in Africa many an Arab claiming direct descent from the 
Prophet himself. 

But along with this process of adaptation by amalgamation 
comes unquestionably a lowering of the mental vitality of the higher 
race. That is the price it has to pay for the privilege of survival 
under the new conditions. But, in conformity to the principles 
already laid down as accepted by all anthropologists, such a lowering 
must correspond to a degeneration in the highest grades of structure, 
the brain cells. r 


ACCOMMODATION 673 


We are forced, therefore, to reach the decision that the human 
species attains its highest development only under moderate condi- 
tions of heat, such as prevail in the temperate zones (an annual mean 
of 8°-12° C.); and the more startling conclusion that the races now 
native to the polar and tropical areas are distinctly pathological, are 
types of degeneracy, having forfeited their highest physiological 
elements in order to purchase immunity from the unfavorable climatic 
conditions to which they are subject. We must agree with a French 
writer, that “man is not cosmopolitan,” and if he insists on becoming 
a “citizen of the world” he is taxed heavily in his best estate for his 
presumption. 

The inferences in racial psychology which follow this opinion are 
too evident to require detailed mention. Natural selection has fitted 
the Eskimo and the Sudanese for their respective abodes, but it has 
been by the process of regressive evolution; progressive evolution in 
man has confined itself to less extreme climatic areas. 

The facts of acclimatization stand in close connection with another 
doctrine in anthropology which is interesting for my theme, that of 
“‘ethno-geographic provinces.”’ Alexander von Humboldt seems to 
have been the first to give expression to this system of human group- 
ing, and it has been diligently cultivated by his disciple, Professor 
Bastian. It rests upon the application to the human species of two 
general principles recognized as true in zodlogy and botany. The\ 
one is that every organism is directly dependent on its environment 
(the milieu), action and reaction going on constantly between them; 
the other is, that no two faunal or floral regions are of equal rank + 
in their capacity for the development of a given type of organism. 

The features which distinguish one ethno-geographic province 
from another are chiefly, according to Bastian, meteorological, and 
they permit, he claims, a much closer division A human groups than 
the general continental areas which give us an African, a European, 
and an American subspecies. 

It is possible that more extended researches may enable ethnog- 
raphers to map out, in this sense, the distribution of our species; 
but the secular alterations in meteorologic conditions, combined 
with the migratory habits of most early communities, must greatly 
interfere with a rigid application of these principles in ethnog- 
raphy. 





674 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The historic theory of “centres of civilisation”’ is allied to that of 
ethno-geographic provinces. The stock examples of such are familiar. 
The Babylonian plain, the valley of the Nile, in America the plateaus 
of Mexico and of Tiahuanuco are constantly quoted as such. The 
geographic advantages these situations offered—a fertile soil, pro- 
tection from enemies, domesticable plants, and a moderate climate— 
are offered as reasons why an advanced culture rapidly developed in 
them, and from them extended over adjacent regions. 

Without denying the advantages of such surroundings, the most 
recent researches in both hemispheres tend to reduce materially 
their influence. The cultures in question did not begin at one point 
and radiate from it, but arose simultaneously over wide areas, in 
different linguistic stocks, with slight connections; and only later, and 
secondarily, was it successfully concentrated by some one tribe—by. 
the agency, it is now believed, of cognatic rather than geographic aids. 

Assyriologists no longer believe that Sumerian culture originated 
in the delta of the Euphrates, and Egyptologists look for the sources 
of the civilization of the Nile Valley among the Libyans; while in 
the New World not one but seven stocks partook of the Aztec learning, 
and half a dozen contributed to that of the Incas. The prehistoric 
culture of Europe was not one of Carthaginians or Phoenicians, but 
was self-developed. 


2. Slavery Defined: 


In most branches of knowledge the phenomena the man of science 
has to deal with have their technical names, and, when using a 
scientific term, he need not have regard to the meaning this term 
conveys in ordinary language; he knows he will not be misunderstood 
by his fellow-scientists. For instance, the Germans call a whale 
Wallfisch, and the English speak of shellfish; but a zodlogist, using 
the word fish, need not fear that any competent person will think 
he means whales or shellfish. 

In ethnology the state of things is quite different. There are a 
few scientific names bearing a definite meaning, such as the terms 
“animism” and “survival,” happily introduced by Professor Tylor. 
But most phenomena belonging to our science have not yet been 


t From Dr. H. J. Nieboer, Slavery as an Industrial System, pp. 1-7. (Martinus 
Nijhoff, The Hague, 1910.) 


ACCOMMODATION 675 


investigated, so it is no wonder that different writers (sometimes 
even the same writer on different pages) give different names to the 
same phenomenon, whereas, on the other hand, sometimes the 
same term (e.g., matriarchate) is applied to widely different phe- 
nomena. As for the subject we are about to treat of, we shall pres- 
ently see that several writers have given a definition of slavery; 
but no one has taken the trouble to inquire whether his definition can 
be of any practical use in social science. Therefore, we shall try 
to give a good definition and justify it. / 

But we may not content ourselves with this; we must also pay 
attention to the meaning of the term “slavery” as commonly em- 
ployed. There are two reasons for this. First, we must always 
rely upon the statements of ethnographers. If an ethnographer 
states that some savage tribe carries on slavery, without defining 
in what this “slavery” consists, we have to ask: What may our 
informant have meant? And as he is likely to have used the word in 
the sense generally attached to it, we have to inquire: What is the 
ordinary meaning of the term “slavery’’ ? 

The second reason is this. Several theoretical writers speak of 
slavery without defining what they mean by it; and we cannot 
avail ourselves of their remarks without knowing what meaning they 
attach to this term. And as they too may be supposed to have used 
it in the sense in which itis generally used, we have again to inquire: 
What is the meaning of the term “slavery” in ordinary language? 

The general use of the word, as is so often the case, is rather 
inaccurate. Ingram says: 


Careless or rhetorical writers use the words “slave” and “slavery” 
in a very lax way. Thus, when protesting against the so-called ‘‘Sub- 
jection of Women,” they absurdly apply those terms to the condition of 
the wife in the modern society of the west—designations which are inappro- 
priate even in the case of the inmate of Indian zenanas; and they speak 
of the modern worker as a “wage-slave,” even though he is backed by 
a powerful trade-union. fPussion has a language of its own, and poets 
and orators must doubtless be permitted to denote by the word 
“slavery” the position of subjects of a state who labo civil _dis- 
abilities or are €xcludéd from the exercise_o | ; but in socio- 
logical study things ought to have their right names, and those names should, 
as far as possible, be uniformly employed. 






676 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


But this use of the word we may safely regard as a metaphor; 
nobody will assert that these laborers and women are really slaves. 
Whoever uses the term slavery in its ordinary sense attaches a 
fairly distinct idea to it. What is this idéaP? We can express it 
most generally thus: a slave is one who is not free. There are never 
slaves without there being freemen too; and nobody can be at the 
same time a slave and a freeman. We must, however, be careful 
to remember that, man being a “social animal,” no man is literally 
free; all members of a community are restricted in their behavior 
toward each other by social rules and customs. But freemen at any 
rate are relatively free; so a slave must be one who does not share in 
the common amount of liberty, compatible with the social connection. 

The condition of the slave as opposed to that of the freeman 
presents itself to us under the three following aspects: 

First, every slave has his master to whom he is subjected. And 
this subjection is of a peculiar kind. Unlike the authority one 
freeman sometimes has over another, the master’s power over his 
slave is unlimited, at least in principle; any restriction put upon the 
master’s free exercise of his power is a mitigation of slavery, not belong- 
ing to its nature, just as in Roman law the proprietor may do with his 
property whatever he is not by special laws forbidden to do. The 
relation between master and slave is therefore properly expressed by 
the slave being called the master’s “‘possession” or “property””— 
expressions we frequently meet with. 

Secondly, slaves are in a lower condition as compared with 
freemen. ‘The slave has no political rights; he does not choose his 
government, he does not attend the public councils. Socially he 
is despised. 

In the third place, we always connect with slavery the idea of 
compulsory labor. The slave is compelled to work; the free laborer 
may leave off working if he likes, be it at the cost of starving. All 
compulsory labor, however, is not slave labor; the latter requires 
that peculiar kind of compulsion that is expressed by the word 
““possession”’ or ‘‘property”’ as has been said before. 

Recapitulating, we may define a slave in the ordinary sense of 
the word as a man who is the property of another, politically and 
socially at a lower level than the mass of the people, and performing 
compulsory labor. 


ACCOMMODATION 677 


The great function of slavery can be no other than a division of 
labor. Division of labor is taken here in the widest sense, as‘including | 
not only a qualitative division, by which one man does one kind of 
work and another a different kind, but also a quantitative one, by 
which one man’s wants are provided for, not by his own work only, 
but by another’s. A society without any division of labor would 
be one in which each man worked for his own wants, and nobody for 
another’s; in any case but this there is a division of labor in this 
wider sense of the word. Now this division can be brought about 
by two means. “There are two ways” says Puchta “in which we 
can avail ourselves of the strength of other men which we are in need 
of. One is the way of free commerce, that does not interfere with 
the liberty of the person who serves us, |the making of contracts by 
which we exchange the strength and skill of another, or their products, 
for other performances on our part: hire of services, purchase of 
manufactures, etc. The other way is the subjugation of such persons, 
which enables us to dispose of their strength in our behalf but at the 
same time injures the personality of the subjected. ‘This subjection 
can be imagined as being restricted to certain purposes, for instance 
to the cultivation of the land, as with soil-tilling serfs, the result of 
which is that this subjection, for the very reason that it has a definite ~ 
and limited aim, does not quite annul the liberty of the subjected. / 
But the subjection can also be an unlimited one, as is the case when 
the subjected person, in'the whole of his outward life, is treated as 
but a means to the purposes of the man of power, and so his personality 
is entirely absorbed. This is the institution of slavery.” 


3- Excerpts from the Journal of a West India Slave Owner' 

Soon after nine o’clock we reached Savannah la Mar, where I 
found my trustee, and a whole cavalcade, waiting to conduct me to 
my own estate; for he had brought with him a curricle and pair for 
myself, a gig for my servant, two black boys upon mules, and a cart 
with eight oxen to convey my baggage. The road was excellent, 
and we had not above five miles to travel; and as soon as the carriage 
entered my gates, the uproar and confusion which ensued sets all 
description at defiance. The works were instantly all abandoned; 


tFrom Matthew G. Lewis, Journal of a West India Proprietor, pp. 60-337. 
(John Murray, 1834.) 


678 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


everything that had life came flocking to the house from all quarters; 
and not only the iaen, and the women, and the children, but, “‘by 
a bland assimilation,” the hogs, and the dogs, and the geese, and the 
fowls, and the turkeys, all came hurrying along by=anséifict, to see 
what could possibly be the matter, and seetfied to be afraid of arriving 
too late. Whether the pleasure of the negroes was sincere may be 
doubted; but certainly it was the loudest that I ever witnessed: 
they all talked together, sang, danced, shouted, and, in the violence of 
their gesticulations, tumbled over each other, and rolled about upon 
the ground. Twenty voices at once enquired after uncles, and aunts, 
and grandfathers, and great-grandmothers of mine, who had been 
buried long before I was in existence, and whom, I verily believe, 


most of them only knew by tradition. One woman held up her little 


naked black child to me, grinning from ear to ear, “Look, Massa, look 
here! him nice lilly neger for Massa!’”’ Another complained, “So 
long since none come see we, Massa; good Massa, come at last.” 
As for the old people, they were all in one and the same story: now 
they had lived once to see Massa, they were ready for dying tomorrow, 
“them no care.” 

The shouts, the gaiety, the wild laughter, their strange and sudden 
bursts of singing and dancing, and several old women, wrapped up in 
large cloaks, their heads bound round with different-colored hand- 
kerchiefs, leaning on a staff, and standing motionless in the middle 
of the hubbub, with their eyes fixed upon the portico which I occupied, 
formed an exact counterpart of the festivity of the witches in Macbeth. 
Nothing could be more odd or more novel than the whole scene; 
and yet there was something in it by which I could not help being 
affected; perhaps it was the consciousness that all these human 
beings were my slaveS;—to be sure, I never saw people look more 
happy in my life; and I believe their condition to be much more 
comfortable than that of the laborers of Great Britain; and, after 
all, slavery, in their case, is but another name for servitude, now that 
no more negroes can be forcibly carried away from Africa and sub- 
jected to the horrors of the voyage and of the seasoning after their 
arrival; but still I had already experienced, in the morning, that 
Juliet was wrong in saying ‘‘What’s in a name?” For soon after 
my reaching the lodging-house at Savannah la Mar, a remarkably 
clean-looking negro lad presented himself with some water and a 


ACCOMMODATION 679 


towel—I concluded him to belong to the inn—and, on my returning 
the towel, as he found that I took no notice of him, he at length 
ventured to introduce himself by saying, ‘Massa not know me; 
me your slave!—and really the sound made me feel a pang at the 
heart. The lad appeared all gaiety and good humor, and his whole 
countenance expressed anxiety to recommend himself to my notice, 
but the word “slave” seemed to imply that, although he did feel 
pleasure then in serving me, if he had detested me he must have served 
me still. I really felt quite humiliated at the moment, and was 
tempted to tell him, “Do not say that again; say that you are my 
negro, but do not call yourself my slave.” 

As I was returning this morning from Montego Bay, about a 
mile from my own estate, a figure presented itself before me, I really 
think the most picturesque that I ever beheld: it was a mulatto 
girl, born upon Cornwall, but whom the overseer of a neighboring 
estate had obtained my permission to exchange for another slave, 
as well as two little children, whom she had borne to him; but, as yet, 
he had been unable to procure a substitute, owing to the difficulty of 
purchasing single negroes, and Mary Wiggins is still my slave. How- 
ever, as she is considered as being manumitted, she had not dared to 
present herself at Cornwall on my arrival, lest she should have been 
considered as an intruder; but she now threw herself in my way to tell 
me how glad she was to see me, for that she had always thought till 
now (which is the general complaint) that “she had no massa,” and also 
to obtain a regular invitation to my negro festival tomorrow. By this 
universal complaint, it appears that, while Mr. Wilberforce is lament- 
ing their hard fate in being subject to a master, their oreatést fear is 
the not having a master whom they know; and that to be told by the 
negroes of another estate that “they belong to no massa,” is one of 
the most contemptuous reproaches that can be cast upon them. Poor 
creatures, when they happened to hear on Wednesday evening that 
my carriage was ordered for Montego Bay the next morning, they 
fancied that I was going away for good and all, and came up to the 
house in such a hubbub that my agent was obliged to speak to them, 
and pacify them with the assurance that I should come back on 
Friday without fail. 

But to return to Mary Wiggins: she was much too pretty not to 
obtain her invitation to Cornwall; on the contrary, I msisted upon her 


680 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


coming, and bade her tell her husband that I admired his taste very 
much for having chosen her. I really think that her form and features 
were the most siatue-like that I ever met with; her complexion had 
no yellow in it and yet was not brown enough to be dark—it was 
‘more of an ash-dove color than anything else; her teeth were admir- 
able, both for color and shape; her eyes equally mild and bright; 
and her face merely broad enough to give it all possible softness and 
grandness of contour: her air and countenance would have suited 
Yarico; but she reminded me most of Grassini.in “‘La Vergine del 
Sole,” only that Mary Wiggins was a thousand times more beautiful, 
and that, instead of a white robe, she wore a mixed dress of brown, 
white, and dead yellow, which harmonized excellently with her 
complexion; while one of her beautiful arms was thrown across her | 
brow to shade her eyes, and a profusion of rings on her fingers glittered 
in the sunbeams. Mary Wiggins and an old cotton tree are the 
most picturesque objects that I have seen for these twenty years. 

I really believe that the negresses can produce children at pleasure, 
and where they are barren, it is just as hens will frequently not lay 
eggs on shipboard, because they do not like their situation. Cubina’s 
wife is in a family way, and I told him that if the child should live, 
I would christen it for him, if he wished it. ‘Tank you, kind massa, 
me like it very much: much oblige if massa do that for me, too.” 
LSoI promised to baptize the father and the baby on the same day, and 
_Aaid that I would be godfather to any children that might be born on 

the estate during my residence in Jamaica. This was soon spread 
about, and, although I have not yet been here a week, two women are 
in the straw already, Jug Betty and Minerva: the first is wife to my 
head driver, The Duke of Sully, but my sense of propriety was much 
gratified at finding that Minerva’s husband was called Captain. I 
think nobody will be able to accuse me of neglecting the religious. 
education of my negroes, for I have not only promised to baptize 
all the infants, but, meeting a little black boy this morning, who said 
that his name was Moses, I gave him a piece of silver, and told him 
that it was for the sake of Aaron; which, I flatter myself, was planting 
in his young mind the rudiments of Christianity. 
On my former visit to Jamaica, I found on my estate a poor 
woman nearly one hundred years old, and stone blind. She was too 
infirm to walk, but two young negroes brought her on their backs to 


ACCOMMODATION 681 


the steps of my house, in order, as she said, that she might at least 
touch massa, although she could not see him. When she had kissed 
my hand, “that was enough,” she said: “now me hab once kiss a 
massa’s hand, me willing to die tomorrow, me no care.”’ She had a 
woman appropriated to her service and was shown the greatest care 
and attention; however, she did not live many months after my 
departure. There was also a mulatto, about thirty years of age, 
named Bob, who had been almost deprived of the use of his limbs 
by the horrible cocoa-bay, and had never done the least work since 
he was fifteen. He was so gentle and humble and so fearful, from the 
consciousness of his total inability of soliciting my notice, that I 
could not help pitying the poor fellow; and whenever he came in my 
way I always sought to encourage him by little presents and other 
trifling marks of favor. His thus unexpectedly meeting with dis- 
tinguishing kindness, where he expected to be treated as a worthless 
incumbrance, made a strong impression on his mind. 


4. The Origin of Caste in India‘ 


If it were possible to compress into a single paragraph a theory 
so complex as that which would explain the origin and nature of 
Indian caste, I should attempt to sum it up in some such words as 
the following: Arcaste is a marriagé union, the constittents of which 
were drawn from various different tribes (or from. various other 
castes similarly formed) in virtue of sothe industry, craft, or function, 
either secular or religious, which they possessed in common. The 
internal discipline, by which the conditions of membership in regard 
to connubial and convivial rights are defined and enforced, has been 
borrowed from the tribal period which preceded the period of castes 
by many centuries, and which was brought to a close by the amalga- 
mation of tribes into a nation under a common scepter. ‘The differ- 
entia of caste as a marriage union consist in some community of 
function; while the differentia of tribe as a marriage union consisted in 
a common ancestry, or a common worship, or a common totem, or in 
fact in any kind of common property except that of a common 
function. , 


t From “Modern Theories of Caste: Mr. Nesfield’s Theory,” Appendix V, 
in Sir Herbert Risley, The People of India, pp. 407-8. (W. Thacker & Co., 1915.) 


682 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Long before castes were formed on Indian soil, most of the 
industrial classes, to which they now correspond, had existed for 
centuries, and as a rule most of the industries which they practiced 
were hereditary on the male side of the parentage. These hereditary 
classes were and are simply the concrete embodiments of those suc- 
cessive stages of culture which have marked the industrial develop- 
ment of mankind in every part of the world. Everywhere (except 
at least in those countries where he is still a savage), man has advanced 
from the stage of hunting and fishing to that of nomadism and cattle- 
grazing, and from nomadism to agriculture proper. Everywhere 
has the age of metallurgy and of the arts and industries which are 
coeval with it been preceded by a ruder age, when only those arts 
were known or practiced which sufficed for the hunting, fishing, and 
nomad states. Everywhere has the class of ritualistic priests and 
lettered theosophists been preceded by a class of less-cultivated 
worshipers, who paid simple offerings of flesh and wine to the personi- 
fied powers of the visible universe without the aid of a hereditary 
professional priesthood. Everywhere has the class of nobles and 
territorial chieftains been preceded by a humbler class of small 
peasant proprietors, who placed themselves under their protection 
and paid tribute or rent in return. Everywhere has this class of 
nobles and chieftains sought to ally itself with that of the priests or 
sacerdotal order; and everywhere has the priestly order sought to 
bring under its control those chiefs and rulers under whose protection 
it lives. 

All these classes had been in existence for centuries before any 
such thing as caste was known on Indian soil; and the only thing 
that was needed to convert them into castes, such as they now are, 
was that the Brahman, who possessed the highest of all functions— 
the priestly—should set the example. This he did by establishing 
for the first time the rule that no child, either male or female, could 
inherit the name and status of Brahman, unless he or she was of 
Brahman parentage on both sides. By the establishment of this 
rule the principle of narriage unionship was superadded to that of 
functional unionship; and it was only by the combination of these 
two principles that a caste in the strict sense of the term could or can 
be formed. The Brahman, therefore, as the Hindu books inform us, 
was ‘“‘the first-born of castes.”” When the example had thus been 


ACCOMMODATION 683 


set by an arrogant and overbearing priesthood, whose pretensions it 
was impossible to put down, the other hereditary classes followed in 
regular order downward, partly in imitation and partly in self-defence. 
Immediately behind the Brahman came the Kshatriya, the military 
chieftain or landlord. He therefore was the “‘second-born of castes.” 
Then followed the bankers or upper trading classes (the Agarwal, 
Khattri, etc.); the scientific musician and singer (Kathak); the 
writing or literary class (Kayasth); the bard or genealogist (Bhat); 
and the class of inferior nobles (Taga and Bhuinhar) who paid no 
rent to the landed aristocracy. ‘These, then, were the third-born of 
castes. Next in order came those artisan classes, who were coeval 
with the age and art of metallurgy; the metallurgic classes themselves; 
the middle trading classes; the middle agricultural classes, who 
placed themselves under the protection of the Kshatriya and paid him 
rent in return (Kurmi, Kachhi, Mali, Tamboli); and the middle 
serving classes, such as Napit and Baidya, who attended to the bodily 
wants of their equals and superiors. These, then, were the fourth- 
born of castes; and their rank in the social scale has been determined 
by the fact that their manners and notions are farther removed than 
those of the preceding castes from the Brahmanical ideal. Next 
came the inferior artisan classes, those who preceded the age and 
art of metallurgy (Teli, Kumhar, Kalwar, etc.); the partly nomad. 
and partly agricultural classes (Jat, Gujar, Ahir, etc.); the inferior 
serving classes, such as Kahar; and the inferior trading classes, such 
as Bhunja. These, then, were the fifth-born of castes, and their 
mode of life is still farther removed from the Brahmanical ideal than 
that of the preceding. The last-born, and therefore the lowest, of all 
the classes are those semisavage con:munities, partly tribes and partly 
castes, whose function consists in hunting or fishing, or in acting as 
butcher for the general community, or in rearing swine and fowls, or 
in discharging the meanest domestic services, such as sweeping and 
washing, or in practicing the lowest of human arts, such as basket- 
making, hide-tanning, etc. Thus throughout the whole series of 
Indian castes a double test of social precedence has been in active 
' force, the industrial and the Brahmanical; and these two have kept 
pace together almost as evenly as a pair of horses harnessed to a 
single carriage. In proportion as the function practiced by any given 
caste stands high or low in the scale of industrial development, in 


684 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the same proportion does the caste itself, impelled by the general 
tone of society by which it is surrounded, approximate more nearly 
or more remotely to the Brahmanical idea of life. It is these two 
criteria combined which have determined the relative ranks of the 
various castes in the Hindu social scale. 


5. Caste and the Sentiments of Caste Reflected in Popular Speech! 


No one indeed can fail to be struck by the intensely popular 
character of Indian proverbial philosophy and by its freedom from 
the note of pedantry which is so conspicuous in Indian literature. 
These quaint sayings have dropped fresh from the lips of the Indian 
rustic; they convey a vivid imprésion of the anxféties, the troubles, 
the annoyances, and the humors of his daily life; and any sympathetic 
observer who has felt the fascination of an oriental village would have 
little difficulty in constructing from these materials a fairly accurate 
picture of rural society in India. The mise en scéne is not altogether 
a cheerful one. It shows “i the average peasant dependent upon the 
vicissitudes of the season and the vagaries of the monsoon, and 
watching from day to day to see what the year may bring forth. 
Should rain fall at the critical moment his wife will get golden earrings. 
but one short fortnight of drought may spell calamity when “God 
takes all at once.”’ ‘Then the forestalling Baniya flourishes by selling 
rotten grain, and the Jat cultivator is ruined. First die the improvi- 
dent Musalman weavers, then the oil-pressers for whose wares there 
is no demand; the carts lie idle, for the bullocks are dead, and the 
bride goes to her husband without the accustomed rites. But be the 
season good or bad, the pious Hindu’s life is ever overshadowed by 
the exactions of the Brahman—‘a thing with a string round its 
neck” (a profane hit at the sacred thread), a priest by appearance, 
a butcher at heart, the chief of a trio of tormentors gibbeted in the 
rhyming proverb: 


Blood-suckers three on earth there be, 
The bug, the Brahman, and the flea. 
Before the Brahman starves the king’s larder will be empty; 
cakes must be given to him while the children of the house may lick 


«From Sir Herbert Risley, The People of India, pp. 130-39. (W. Thacker & 
Co., 1915.) 


ACCOMMODATION 685 


the grindstone for a meal; his stomach is a bottomless pit; he eats 
so immoderately that he dies from wind. He will beg with a lakh of 
rupees in his pocket, and a silver begging-bowl in his hand. In his 
greed for funeral fees he spies out corpses like a vulture, and rejoices 
in the misfortunes of his clients. A village with a Brahman in it is 
like a tank full of crabs; to have him as a neighbor is worse than 
leprosy; if a snake has to be killed the Brahman should be set to 
do it, for no one will miss him. If circumstances compel you to 
perjure yourself, why swear on the head of your son, when there is a 
Brahman handy? Should he die (as is the popular belief) the world 
will be none the poorer. Like the devil in English proverbial phi- 
losophy, the Brahman can cite scripture for his purpose; he demands 
worship himself but does not scruple to kick his low-caste brethren; 
he washes his sacred thread but does not cleanse his inner man; and 
so great is his avarice that a man of another caste is supposed to pray 
“O God, let me not be reborn as a Brahman priest, who is always 
begging and is never satisfied.”” He defrauds even the gods; Vishnu 
gets the barren prayers while the Brahman devours the offerings. 
So Pan complains in one of Lucian’s dialogues that he is done out of 
the good things which men offer at his shrine. 

The next most prominent figure in our gallery of popular portraits 
is that of the Baniya, money-lender, grain-dealer, and monopolist, | 
_ who dominates the material world as the Brahman does the spiritual. 
His heart, we are told, is no bigger than a coriander seed; he has the 
jaws of an alligator and a stomach of wax; he is less to be trusted 
than a tiger, a scorpion, or a snake; he goes in like a needle and 
comes out like a sword; as a neighbor he is as bad as a boil in the 
armpit. Ifa Baniya is on the other side of a river you should leave 
your bundle on this side, for fear he should steal it. When four 
Baniyas meet they rob the whole world. If a Baniya is drowning 
you should not give him a hand: he is sure to have some base motive 
for drifting down stream. He uses light weights and swears that the 
scales tip themselves; he keeps his accounts in a character that no 
one but God can read; if you borrow from him, your debt mounts up 
like a refuse heap or gallops like a horse; if he talks to a customer he 
“draws a line” and debits the conversation; when his own credit 
is shaky he writes up his transactions on the wall so that they can 
easily be rubbed out. He is so stingy that the dogs starve at his 


686 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


feast, and he scolds his wife if she spends a farthing on betel-nut. 
A Jain Baniya drinks dirty water and shrinks from killing ants and 
flies, but will not stick at murder in pursuit of gain. As a druggist 
the Baniya is in league with the doctor; he buys weeds at a 
nominal price and sells them very dear. Finally, he is always a 
shocking coward: eighty-four Khatris will run away from four 
thieves. 

Nor does the clerical caste fare better at the hands of the popular 
epigrammatist. Where three Kayasths are gathered together a 
thunderbolt is sure to fall; when honest men fall out the Kayasth 
gets his chance. When a Kayasth takes to money-lending he is a 
merciless creditor. He is a man of figures; he lives by the point of 
his pen; in his house even the cat learns two letters and a half. 
He isa versatile creature, and where there are no tigers he will become 
a shikari; but he is no more to be trusted than a crow or a snake 
without a tail. One of the failings sometimes imputed to the educated 
Indian is attacked in the saying, “Drinking comes to a Kayasth 
with his mother’s milk.” 

Considering the enormous strength of the agricultural population 
of India, one would have expected to find more proverbs directed 
against the great cultivating castes. Possibly the reason may be 
that they made most of the proverbs, and people can hardly be 
expected to sharpen their wit on their own shortcomings. In two 
provinces, however, the rural Pasquin has let out very freely at the 
morals and manners of the Jat, the typical peasant of the eastern 
Punjab and the western districts of the United Provinces. You 
may as well, we are told, look for good in a Jat as for weevils in a 
stone. Heis your friend only so long as you have a stick in your hand. 
If he cannot harm you he will leave a bad smell as he goes by. To 
be civil to him is like giving treacle to a donkey. If he runs amuck 
it takes God to hold him. A Jat’s laugh would break an ordinary 
man’s ribs. When he learns manners, he blows his nose with a mat, 
and there is a great run on the garlic. His baby has a plowtail 
for a plaything. The Jat stood on his own corn heap and called out 
to the King’s elephant-drivers, ‘‘Hi there, what will you take for 
those little donkeys?” He is credited with practicing fraternal 
polyandry, like the Venetian nobility of the early eighteenth century, 
as a measure of domestic economy, and a whole family are said to 
have one wife between them. 





ACCOMMODATION 687 


The Doms, among whom we find scavengers, vermin-eaters, 
executioners, basket-makers, musicians, and professional burglars, 
probably represent the remnants of a Dravidian tribe crushed out of 
recognition by the invading Aryans and condemned to menial and 
degrading occupations. Sir G. Grierson has thrown out the pictur- 
esque suggestion that they are the ancestors of the European gypsies 
and that Rom or Romany is nothing more than a variant of Dom. 
In the ironical language of the proverbs the Dom figures as “the . 
lord of death” because he provides the wood for the Hindu funeral 
pyre. He is ranked with Brahmans and goats as a creature useless 
in time of need. A common and peculiarly offensive form of abuse is 
to tella man that he has eaten a Dom’s leavings. A series of proverbs 
represents him as making friends with members of various castes 
and faring ill or well in the process. Thus the Kanjar steals his dog, 
and the Gajar loots his house; on the other hand, the barber shaves 
him for nothing, and the silly Jolaha makes him a suit of clothes. 
His traditions associate him with donkeys, and it is said that if these 
animals could excrete sugar, Doms would no longer be beggars. 
“A Dom in a palanquin and a Brahman on foot”’ is a type of society 
turned upside down. Nevertheless, outcast as he is, the Dom 
occupies a place of his own in the fabric of Indian society. “At 
funerals he provides the wood and gets the corpse clothes as his per- 
quisite; he makes the discordant music that accompanies a marriage 
procession; and baskets, winnowing-fans, and wicker articles in 
general are the work of his hands. 

In the west of India, Mahars and Dheds hold much the same 
place as the Dom. In the walled villages of the Maratha country 
the Mahar is the scavenger, watchman, and gate-keeper. His presence 
pollutes; he is not allowed to live in the village; and his miserable 
shanty is huddled up against the wall outside. But he challenges 
the stranger who comes to the gate, and for this and other services 
he is allowed various perquisites, among them that of begging for 
broken victuals from house to house. He offers old blankets to his 
god, and his child’s playthings are bones. The Dhed’s status is 
equally low. If he looks at a water jar he pollutes its contents; if 
you run up against him by accident, you must go off and bathe. If 
you annoy a Dhed he sweeps up the dust in your face. When he 
dies, the world isso much the cleaner. If you go to the Dheds’ quarter 
you find there nothing but a heap of bones. 


688 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


This relegation of the low castes to a sort of ghetto is carried 
to great lengths in the south of India where the intolerance of the 
Brahman is very conspicuous. In the typical Madras village the 
Pariahs—“dwellers in the quarter’ (para) as this broken tribe is 
now called—live in an irregular cluster of conical hovels of palm leaves 
known as the parchery, the squalor and untidiness of which present 
the sharpest contrasts to the trim street of tiled masonry houses where 
the Brahmans congregate. ‘‘Every village,” says the proverb, 
“has its Pariah hamlet’’—a place of pollution the census of which is 
even now taken with difficulty owing to the reluctance of the high- 
caste enumerator to enter its unclean precincts. ‘A palm tree,” 
says another, ‘‘casts no shade; a Pariah has no caste and rules.”’ 
The popular estimate of the morals of the Pariah comes out in the 
saying, ‘“He that breaks his word is a Pariah at heart”; while the 
note of irony predominates in the pious question, “If a Pariah offers 
boiled rice will not the god take it?” the implication being that the 
Brahman priests who take the offerings to idols are too greedy to 
inquire by whom they are presented. 

B. SUBORDINATION AND SUPERORDINATION 


Vii. The Psychology of Subordination and Superordination* 


The ‘typical suggestion is given by words. But the impulse to 
act under the influence of another person arises no less when the 
action is proposed in the more direct form of showing the action 
itself. er This is 
the earliest type of subordination. It plays a fundamental réle in 
the infant’s life, long before the suggestion through words can begin 
its influence. The infant imitates involuntarily as soon as connections 
eee oe ma eent Sane Se ee have 

een formed. At first automatic reflexes produce all kinds of motions, 
and each movement awakes kinesthetic and muscle sensations. 
Through association these impressions become bound up with the 
motor impulses. As soon as the movements of other persons arouse 


similar visual sensations the kinesthetic sensations are associated 
and realize the corresponding movement. Very soon the associative 


*From Hugo Miinsterberg, Psychology, General and Applied, pp. 259-64. 
(D. Appleton & Co., 1914.) 


ACCOMMODATION 689 


irradiation becomes more complex, and whole groups of emotional 
reactions are imitated. ‘The child cries and laughs in imitation. 
Most important is the imitation of the speech movement. The 
sound awakes the impulse to produce the same vocal sound long 
before the meaning of the word is understood. Imitation is thus 
the condition for the acquiring of speech, and later the condition for 


the learning of all other abilities. But while the imitation is at first 
simply _automatic,—it—becomes~more~and_more volitional. —T’ Her. 


child intends to imitate what the teact 
This infentional imitation is certainly one of the most ee, 
vehicles of social organization. ‘The desire to act like certain models 
becomes_the_ most powerful-social-energy. But even the highest 
differentiation of society does not eliminate the constant working of 
the automatic, impulsive imitation. 

The inner relation between imitation and suggestion shows itself 
in the similarity of conditions under which they are most effective. 
Every increase of suggestibility facilitates imitation. In any emo- 
eee ERY obeprousevery mene Seinits to the suggestion 
of the others, but the suggestion is taken from the actual movements. 
A crowd in a panic or a mob in a riot shows an increased suggestibility 
by which each individual automatically repeats what his neighbors 
are doing. Even an army in battle may become, either through 
enthusiasm or through fear, a group in which all individuality is lost 
and everyone is forced by imitative impulses to fight or escape. The 
psychophysical experiment leaves no doubt that this imitative 
response releases the sources of strongest energy in the mental mechan- 
ism. If the arm lifts the weight of an ergograph until the will cannot 
overcome the fatigue, the mere seeing of the movement carried out 
by others whips the motor centers to new efficiency. 

We saw that our feeling states are both causes and effects of our 
actions. We cannot experience the impulse to action without a new 


shading of our emotional setting. Imitative acting involves, there- 
fore, an_inner imitation of feeling SMART dich ila whoteeles ih 
a. | SSgRaneee her pleasant feeling. The 
adult who is witness of an accident in which someone is hurt imi- 
tates instinctively the cramping muscle contractions of the victim, 


and as a result he feels an intense dislike without having the 
pain sensations themselves. From such elementary experiences an 





690 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


imitative emotional life develops, controlled by a general sympathetic 
tendency. We share the. pleasures ind the displeasures of others 
through an inner imitation which remains-automatic. In its richer 
forms this sympathy becomes an altruistic sentiment; it stirs the 
desire to remove the misery around us and unfolds to a general mental 
setting through which every action is directed toward the service 
to others. But from the faintest echoing of feelings in the infant to 
the highest self-sacrifice from altruistic impulse, we have the common 


‘element of submission. The individual is feeling, and accordingly — 


acting, not in the realization of his individual impulses, but under the 
influence of other personalities. 

4. This subordination to the feelings of others through sympathy 
and pity and common joy takes a new psychological form in the 
affection of tenderness and especially parental love. The relation 


of parents to children involves certainly an element o ordina- 


tion, but the mentally st remains th ion, the 
com submission to the feelings o _are dependent upon 
the parents’ In 1 Sher development the parental love will 
Be eiiics every momentary like or dislike of the child, but will 
adjust the educative influence to the lasting satisfactions and to the 


later sources of unhappiness. But the submission of the parents to 
the feeling tones in the child’s life remains the fundamental principle 


of the family instinct. Wile the parents) Jove and “ndemess mean 
that the stronger submits to the weaker, even up to the highest points 
which are held together by a sense of dependence. This feeling of 


dependence as a motive of subordination enters into numberless 
human relations. Everywhere the weak lean on the strong, and 
choose their actions under the influence of those in whom they have 
confidence. ‘The corresponding feelings show the manifold shades of 
modesty, admiration, gratitude, and hopefulness. Yet it is only 
another aspect of the social relation if the consciousness of dependence 
upon the more powerful is felt with fear. and revolt, or with the nearly 
related emotion of envy. 

The desire to assert oneself is no less powerful, in the social inter- 
play, than the impulse to submission. Society needs the leaders as 


well as the followers. Self-assertiog presupposes contact with other. 


individuals. Man protects himself against the dangers of nature, 


——— 














Ai fi 
ACCOMMODATION 691 


and man masters nature; but he asserts himself against men who 
interfere with him or whom he wants to force to obedience. The 


most immediate reaction in the compass of self-assertion-is-indeed 


the rejection of interference. It is a form in which even the infant 
shows the opposite of submission. He repels any effort to disturb 
him in the realization of the instinctive impulses. From the simplest 
reaction of the infant disturbed in his play or his meal, a straight 
line of development leads to the fighting spirit of man, whose pug- 
naciousness and whose longing for vengeance force His _will on his 
enemies. Every form of rivalry, jealousy, and intolerance finds 
in this feeling group its source of automatic response. The most 
complex intellectual processes may be made subservient to this 
self-asserting emotion. 

But the effort to impose one’s will on others certainly does not 
result only from conflict. An entirely different emotional center is 
given by the mere desire for self-expression. In every field of human 
activity the individual may show his inventiveness, his ability to be 
different from others, to be a model, to be imitated by his fellows. 
The normal man has a healthy, instinctive desire to claim recognition 
from the members of the social group. This interferes neither with 
the spirit of co-ordination nor with the subordination of modesty. In 
so far as the individual demands acknowledgement of his personal 
behavior and his personal achievement, he raises himself by that 
act above others. He wants his mental attitude to influence and 
control the social surroundings. In its fuller development this 
inner setting becomes the ambition for leadership in the affairs of 
practical life or in the sphere of cultural work. 

The superficial counterpart is the desire for self-display with all 
its variations of vanity and boastfulness. From the most bashfu 
submission to the most ostentatious self-assertion, from the seli 
sacrifice of motherly love tg the pugnaciousness of despotic egotism 
the social psychologist, can trace the human impulses through all th 
intensities of the human energies. which interfere with equality in 
the: group. Each variation has its emotional background and its 


- impulsive discharge. Within normal limits they are all equally use- 


ful for the biological existence of the group and through the usefulness 
for the group ultimately serviceable to its members. Only through 
superordination and subordination does the group receive the inner 


Ng 


692 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


firmness which transforms the mere combination of men into working 
units. They give to human society that strong and yet flexible 
organization which is the necessary condition for its successful 


development. vA 


2. Social Attitudes in Subordination: Memories of an Old Servant? 


Work is a great blessing, and it has been wisely arranged by our 
divine Master that all his creatures should have a work to do of some 
kind. Some are weak and some are strong. Old and young, rich 
and poor, there is that work expected from us, and how much happier 
we are when we are at our work. 

There are so many things to learn, so many different kinds of 
work that must be done to make the world go on right. And some 
work is easier than others; but all ought to be well done, and in a 
cheerful, contented manner. Some prefer working with hands and 
feet; they say it is easier than the head work; but surely both are 
heavy work, for it does depend on your ability. 

Boys and girls do not leave school so early as they did fifty or 
sixty years ago. The boys went out quite happy and manly to do 
their herding at some farm, and would be very useful for some years 
till they preferred learning some trade, etc.; then a younger boy 
just filled his place; and by doing this they did learn farming a good 
bit, and this helped them on in after years if they wanted to go back 
to farming again. We regret to see that the page-boy is not wanted 
so much as he used to be; and what a help that used to be for a young 
boy. He learns a great deal by being first of all a while in the stable 

‘.#yard or garage before he goes into the gentleman’s house, and he is 
neat and tidy at all times for messages. We have seen many of 
them in our young days; and even the waif has been picked up by a 
good master, and began in the stables and worked his way up to be 
a respected valet in the same household, and often and often told the 
story of his waif life in the servants’ hall. 

The old servant has seen many changes and in many cases prefers 
the good old ways; there may be some better arrangements made, 
we cannot doubt that, but we are surprised at good old practices 
that our late beloved employers had ignored by their own children 


t Adapted from Domestic Service, by An Old Servant, pp. 10-110. (Houghton 
Mifflin Co., 1917.) 


ACCOMMODATION 693 


after they have so far grown up. Servants need the good example 
from their superiors, and when they hear the world speak well of 
them they do look for the good ways in the home life. We all like 
to hold up an employer’s good name, surely we do if we are interested 
at all in our work, and if we feel that we cannot do our duty to them 
we ought to go elsewhere-and-not-decetve them. We are trusted 
with a very great deal, and it is well for us if we are doing all we can 
as faithful servants, and in the end lay down our tools with the ae 
ing that we have tried to do our best. 

We must remember that each one is born in his station in life, 
wisely arranged by “One Who Knows and Who Is Our Supreme 
Ruler.” No one can alter this nor say to him, “What Doest Thou ?” 
so we must each and all keep our station and honor the rich man 
and the poor man who humbly tries to live a Christian life, and 
when their faults are seen by us may we at once turn to ourselves 
and look if we are not human, too, and may be-as vile as they. 

We have noticed some visitors very rude to the servants and so 
different to our own employers, and we set a mark on them, for we 
would not go to serve them. We remember once when our lady’s 
brother was showing a visiting lady some old relics near the front 
door they came upon the head housemaid who was cleaning the 
church pew chairs (they were carried in while the church was being 
repaired), and she was near a very old grand piano. The lady asked 
in such a jeer, ‘‘And is this the housemaid’s piano”? The gentle- 
man looked very hard at the housemaid, for we were sure that he was 
very annoyed at her, but we did not hear his answer; but the house- 
maid had the good sense to keep quiet, but she could have told her 
to keep her jeers, for we were not her class of servant, neither was 
she our class of employer. We heard her character after, and 
never cared to see her. Some servants take great liberties, and 
then all are-supposed_to be alike; but we are glad that all ladies are 
not like this, for the world would be poor indeed; they would soon 
ruin all the girls—and no wonder her husband had left her. We 
heard of a gentleman who fancied his laundry-maid, so he called his 
servants together and told them that he was to marry her and bring 
her home as the lady of his house, and he hoped they would all stay 
where they were; but if they-felt that they could not look upon her 
as their mistress and his wife, they were free to yo away. And not 


= 


694 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


one of them left, for they stayed on with them for years. This is a 
true story from one who knew them and could show us their London 
house. Now we have lived with superior servants, and we would 
much rather serve them even now in our old age than serve ay 
lady who can never respect a servant. 

Nothing brings master and servant closer together than the 
sudden sore-bereavement, and very likely this book could not be 
written so sad were it not for the many sad days that have been spent 
in service, and now so very few of the employers are to be seen; 
and when they are with us we feel that we are still respected by them, 
for there is the usual welcome—for they would look back the same as 
we do on days that are gone by. In our young days the curtsy was 
fashionable; you would see every man’s daughter bobbing whenever 
they met the lady or gentlemen or when they met their teacher. 
The custom is gone now, and we wonder why; but the days are 
changed, and some call it education that is so far doing this; it can- 
not be education, for we do look for more respect from the educated 
than from the class that we called the ignorant. 

How well off the servants are in these years of war, for they have 
no rent to worry about and no anxiety about their coal bill, nor how 
food, etc., is to be got in and paid for, no taxes nor cares like so many 
poor working men; they are also sure of their wages when quarter 
day comes round. It is true she may have a widow mother who 
requires some help with rent, coals, or food, but there are many who 
ought to value a good situation, whether in the small comfortable 


house as general or in larger good situations where a few servants 


are, for we have seen them all and know what they have been like, 
and so we say that all as a rule ought to be very thankful that they 
are the domestic servant and so study to show gratitude by good 
deeds to all around, as there is work just now for everyone to do. 

A great deal more could easily be written, and we hope some old 
servant may also speak out in favor of domestic service, and so let 
it be again what it has been, and when both will look on each other 
as they ought, for there has always been master and servant, and we 
have the number of servants, or near the number, given here by 
one who knows, 1,330,783 female domestic servants at the last census 
in 1911, and so the domestic service is the largest single industry 
that is; there are more people employed as domestic servants thar 


ACCOMMODATION 695 


any other class of employment. Before closing this book the writer 
would ask that a kinder interest may be taken in girls who may 
_have at one time been in disgrace; many of them have no homes and 
we might try to help them into situations. This appeal is from the 
old housekeeper and so from one who has had many a talk with 
young girls for their good; but they have often been led far astray. 
We ought to give them the chance again, by trying to get them 
situations, and if the lady is not her friend, nor the housekeeper, 
we pity her. 


3. The Reciprocal Character of Subordination and Superordination! 


Every social occurrence consists of an interaction between indi- 
viduals. In other words, each individual is at the same time an 
active and a passive agent in a transaction. In case of superiority 
and inferiority, however, the relation assumes the appearance of a 
one-sided operation; the one party appears to exert, while the other 
seems merely to receive, an influence. Such, however, is not in 
fact the case. No one would give himself the trouble to_gain or to 
maintain superiority if it afforded him no advantage or enjoyment. 
This_return to the superior can be derived from the relation, how- 
ever, only by virtue of the fact that there is a reciprocal action of the 
inferior upon the superior. The decisive characteristic of the relation 
at this point is this, that the effect which the inferior actually exerts 
upon the superior is determined by the latter. The superior causes 
the inferior to produce a given cilect which the superior shall experis 
ence, In this operation, in case the subordination is really absolute, 
no sort of spontaneity is present on the part of the subordinates 
The reciprocal influence is rather the same as that between a man 
and a lifeless external object with which the former performs an act 
for his own use. That is, the person acts upon the object in order 
that the latter may react upon himself. In this reaction of the object 
no spontaneity on the part of the object is to be observed, but merely 
the further operation of the spontaneity of the person. Such an 
extreme case of superiority and inferiority will scarcely occur among 
human beings. Rather will a certain measure of independence, a 
certain direction of the relation proceed also from the self-will and 

t Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel by Albion W. Small, ‘“Superi- 


ority and Subordination,” in the American Journal of Sociology, II (1896-97), 
169-71. 


696 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the character of the subordinate. The different cases of superiority 
and inferiority will accordingly be characterized by differences in the 
relative amount of spontaneity which the subordinates and the 
superiors bring to bear upon the total relation. In exemplification 
of this reciprocal action of the inferior, through which superiority 
and inferiority manifests itself as proper socialization, I will mention 
only a few cases, in which the reciprocity is difficult to discern. 

When in the case of an absolute despotism the ruler attaches to 
his edicts the threat of penalty or the promise of reward, the meaning 
is that the monarch himself will be bound by the regulation which 
he has ordained. The inferior shall have the right, on the other 
hand, to demand something from the lawgiver. Whether the latter 
subsequently grants the promised reward or protection is another 
question. The spirit of the relation as contemplated by the law is 
that the superior completely controls the inferior, to be sure, but that 
a certain claim is assured to the latter, which claim he may press or 
may allow to lapse, so that even this most definite form of the rela- 
tion still contains an element of spontaneity on the part of the 
inferior. ; 

Still farther; the concept “law” seems to connote that he who 
gives the law is in so far unqualifiedly superior. Apart from those 
cases in which the law is instituted by those who will be its subjects, 
there appears in lawgiving- as such no sign of spontaneity on the part 
of the subject of the law. It is, nevertheless, very interesting to 
observe how the Roman conception of law makes prominent the 
reciprocity between the superior and the subordinate elements. 
‘Thus /ex means originally “compact,” in the sense, to be sure, that 
the terms of the same are fixed by the proponent, and the other party 
can accept or reject it only en bloc. The lex publica populi Romani 
meant originally that the king proposed and the people accepted the 
same. ‘Thus even here, where the conception itself seems fo express 
the complete one-sidedness of the superior, the nice social instinct 
of the Romans pointed in the verbal expression to the co-operation 
of the subordinate. In consequence of like feeling of the nature of 
socialization the later Roman jurists declared that the soczetas leonina 
‘is not to be regarded as a social compact. Whefe the one absolutely 
controls the other, that is, where all spontaneity of the subordinate 
is excluded, there is no longer any socialization. Bo 


ACCOMMODATION 697 


Once more, the orator who confronts the assembly, or the teacher 
his class, seems to be the sole leader, the temporary superior. Never- 
theless everyone who finds himself in that situation is conscious of 
the limiting and controlling reaction of the mass which is apparently 
merely passive and submissive to his guidance. ‘This is the case not 
merely when the parties immediately confront each other. All 
leaders are also led, as in countless cases the master is the slave of 
his slaves. “I am your leader, therefore I must follow you,” said 
one of the most eminent German parliamentarians, with reference to 
his party. Every journalist is influenced by the public upon which 
he seems to exert an influence entirely without reaction. The most 
characteristic case of actual reciprocal influence, in spite of what 
appears to be subordination without corresponding reaction, is that 
of hypnotic suggestion. An eminent hypnotist recently asserted 
that in every hypnosis there occurs an actual if not easily defined 
influence of the hypnotized upon the hypnotist, and that without 
this the effect would not be produced. 


4. Three Types of Subordination and Superordination’ 


Three possible types of superiority present themselves. Superi- 

ority may be exercised (a) by an individual, (6) by a group, (c) by 
an objective principle higher than individuals. 

. a) Subordination to an individual.—The subordination of a group 
to a single person implies a very decided unification of the group. 
This is equally the case with both the characteristic forms of this 
subordination, viz.: (1) when the group with its head constitutes a 
real internal unity; when the superior is more-a-leaderthan-a-master | 
and only represents in himself the power and the will of the group; 
(2) when the group is conscious of opposition between itself and its 
head, when’a party opposed to the head is formed. In both cases 
the unity of the supreme head tends to bring about an inner unifica- 
tion of the group. The elements of the Tattér’are conscious of them- 
selves as belonging together, because their interests converge at 
one point. Moreover the opposition to this unified controlling power 
compels the group to collect itself, to condense itself into unity. 


* Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel by Albion W. Small, “Superi- 
ority and Subordination,” in the American Journal of Sociology, II (1896-97), 
172-86. 


698 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


This is true not alone of the political group. In the factory, the 
ecclesiastical community, a school class, and in associated bodies of 
every sort it is to be observed that the termination of the organiza- 
tion in a head, whether in case of harmony or of opposition, helps to 
effect unification of the group. This is most conspicuous to be sure 
in the political sphere. History has shown it to be the enormous 
advantage of monarchies that they unify the political interests of 
the popular mass. The totality has a common interest in holding 
the prerogatives of the crown within their boundaries, possibly in 
restricting them; or there is a common field of conflict between those 
whose interests are with the crown and those who are opposed. 
Thus there is a supreme point with reference to which the whole 
people constitutes either a single party or, at most, two. Upon the 
disappearance of its head, to which all are subordinate—with the 
end of this political pressure—all political unity often likewise ceases. 
There spring up a great number of party factions which previously, 
in view of that supreme political interest for or against the monarchy, 
found no room. 

Wonder has often been felt over the irrationality of the condition 
in which a single person exercises lordship over a great mass of others. 
The contradiction will be modified when we reflect that the ruler and 
the individual subject in the controlled mass by no means enter 
into the relationship with an equal quantum of their personality. The ~ 
mass is composed through the fact that many individuals unite 
fractions of their personality—one-sided purposes, interests and 
powers, while that which each personality as such actually is towers 
above this common level and does not at all enter into that ‘‘mass,”’ 
i.e., into that which is really ruled by the single person. Hence it is 
also that frequently in very despotically ruled groups individuality 
may develop itself very freely, in those aspects particularly which 
are not in participation with the mass. Thus began the develop- 
ment of modern individuality in the despotisms of the Italian Renais- 
sance. Here, as in other similar cases (for example, under Napoleon 
I and Napoleon III), it was for,the direct interest of the despots to 
allow the largest freedom to all those aspects of personality which 
were not identified with the regulated mass, i.e., to those aspects 
most apart from politics. Thus subordination was more tolerable. 


ACCOMMODATION 699 


b) Subordination to a group.—In the second place the group may 
assume the form of a pyramid. In this case the subordinates stand 
over against the superior not in an equalized mass but in very nicely 
graded strata of power. These strata grow constantly smaller in 
extent but greater in significance. They lead up from the inferior 
mass to the head, the single ruler. 

This form of the group may come into existence in two ways. It 
latter often loses the substance of his power and allows it to slip down- 
ward, while retaining its form and titles. In this case more of the 
power is retained by the orders nearest to the former autocrat than 
is acquired by those more distant. Since the power thus gradually 
percolates, a continuity and graduation of superiority and inferiority 
must develop itself. ‘Fhis is, in fact, the way in which in oriental 
states the social-forms often arise. The power of the superior orders 
disintegrates, either because it is essentially incoherent and does not 
know how to attain the above-emphasized proportion between 
subordination and individual freedom; or because the persons com- 
prising the administration are too indolent or too ignorant of govern- 
mental technique to preserve supreme power. For the power which 
is exercised over a large circle is never a constant pcisession. It 
must be constantly acquired and defended anew if anything more 
than its shadow and name is to remain. 

The other way in which a sca'e of power is constructed up to a 
supreme head is the reverse of that just described. Starting with a 
relative Oe esi racciel elemental eaeamiclonien ts gain greater 
-significance; within the circle of influence thus constituted certain 
especially powerful individuals differentiate themselves until this 
development accommodates itself to one or to a few heads. The 
pyramid of superiority and inferiority is built in this case from below 
upward, while in the former case the development was from above 
downward. ‘This second form of development is often found in 
economic relationships, where at first there exists a certain equality 
between the persons carrying on the work of a certain industrial 
society. Presently some of the number acquire wealth; others 
become poor; others fall into intermediate conditions which are as 
dependent upon an aristocracy of property as the lower orders are 


700 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


upon the middle strata; this aristocracy rises in manifold gradations 
to the magnates, of whom sometimes a single individual is appropri- 
ately designated as the “king” of a branch of industry. By a sort 
of combination of the two ways in which graded superiority and 
inferiority of the group come into being the feudalism of the Middle 
Ages arose. So long as the full citizen—either Greek, Roman, or 
Teutonic—knew no. subordination under an individual, there existed 
for him on the one hand complete equality with those of-his-own 
order, but on the other hand rigid exclusiveness toward those of 
lower orders, Feudalism remodeled this characteristic social form 
into the equally characteristic arrangement which filled the gap 
between freedom and bondage with a scale of classes. 

A peculiar form of subordination to a number of individuals is 
determination by vote of a majority. The presumption of majority 
rule is that there is a collection of elements originally possessing 
equal rights. In the process of voting the individual places himself 
in subordination to a power of which he is a part, but in this way, 
that it is left to his own volition whether he will belong to the superior 
or the inferior, i.c., the outvoted party. We are not now interested 
in cases of this complex problem in which the superiority is entirely 
formal, as, for example, in resolves of scientific congresses, but only 
with those in which the individual is constrained to an action by the - 
will of the party outvoting him, that is, in which he must practically 
subordinate himself to the majority. This dominance of numbers 
through the fact that others, though only equal in right, have another 
opinion, is by no means the matter of course which it seems to us 
today in our time of determinations by masses. Ancient German 
law knew nothing of it. If one did not agree with the resolve of 
the community, he was not bound by it. As an application of this 
principle, unanimity was later necessary in the choice of king, evi- 
dently because it could not be expected or required that one who had 
not chosen the king would obey him. ‘The English baron who had 
opposed authorizing a levy, or who had not been present, often 
refused to pay it. In the tribal council of the Iroquois, as in the 
Polish Parliament, decisions had to be unanimous. ‘There~was 
therefore no subordination of an individual to a majority, unless we 
consider the fact that a proposition was regarded as rejected if it did 
not receive unanimous approval, a subordination, an outvoting, of 
the person proposing the measure. 


ACCOMMODATION 701 


When, on the contrary, majority rule exists, two modes of sub- 
ordination of the minority are possible, and discrimination between 
them is of the highest sociological significance. Control of the 
minority may, in the first place, arise from the fact that the many 
are more powerful than the few. Although, or rather because, the 
individuals participating in a vote are supposed to be equals, 
the majority have the physical power to coerce the minority. The 
taking of a_-vote and the subjection of the minority serves the pur- 
pose of avoiding such actual measurement of strength, but accom- 
plishes practically the same_result-through the count of votes, since 
the minority is convinced of the futility of such resort to force. 
There exist in the group two parties in opposition as though they 
were two groups, between which relative strength, represented by 
the vote, is to decide. 

Quite another principle is in force, however, in the second place, 
where the group as a unity predominates over all individuals and so 
proceeds that the passing of votes shall merely give expression to the 
unitary group-will, In the transition from the former to this second 
principle the enormously important step is taken from a unity made 
up merely of the sum of the individuals to recognition and operation 
of an abstract objective group unity. Classic antiquity took this 
step muck earlier—not only absolutely but relatively earlier—than 
the German peoples. Among the latter the oneness of the commun- 
ity did not exist over against the individuals who composed it but 
entirely in them. Consequently the group will was not only not 
enacted but it did not even exist so long as a single member dissented. 
The group was not complete unless all its members were united, since 
it was only in the sum of its members that the group consisted. In 
case the group, however, is a self-existent structure—whether con- 
sciously or merely in point of fact—in_ case the group organization 
effected by union of the individuals remains along with and in spite 
of the individual changes, this self-existent unity—state, community, 
association for a distinctive purpose—must surely will and act ina 
_ definite manner. Since, however, only one of two contradictory 
opinions can ultimately prevail, it is assumed as more probable that 
the majority knows or represents this will better than the minority. 
According to the presumptive principle involved the minority is, in 
this case, not excluded but included. The subordination of the 
minority is thus in this stage of sociological development quite 


702 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


different from that in case the majority simply represents the stronger 
power. In the case in hand the majority does not speak in its own 
name but in that of the ideal unity and totality. It is only to this 
unity, which speaks by the mouth of the majority, that the minority ~ 
subordinates~itself. This is the immanent principle of our parlia- 
mentary decisions. | 

c) Subordination to an impersonal principle.—To these must be 
joined, third, those formations in which subordination is neither to 
an individual nor yet to a majority, but to an impersonal objective 
principle. Here, where we seem to be estopped from speaking of a 
reciprocal influence between the superior and the subordinate, a 
sociological interest enters in but two cases: first, when this ideal 
superior principle is to be interpreted as the psychological consolida-~ 
tion of a real social power; second, when the principle establishes — 
specific and: characteristic relationships between those who are sub- 
ject toitin common. The former case appears chiefly in connection 
with the moral imperatives. In the moral consciousness we feel our- 
selves subject to a decree which does not appear to be issued by any 
personal human power; we hear the voice of conscience only in our- 
selves, although with a force and definiteness, in contrast with all 
subjective egoism, which, as it seems, could have had its source only 
from an authority outside the subject. As is well known, the attempt 
has been made to resolve this contradiction by the assumptio that 
we have derived the content of morality from social decrees. What- 
ever is serviceable to the species and to the group, whatever on that 
account is demanded of the members for the self-preservation of the 
group, is gradually bred into individuals as an instinct, so that it 
asserts itself as a peculiar autonomous impression by the side of the 
properly personal, and consequently often contradictory, impulses. 
Thus would be explained the double character of the moral command. 
On the one side it appears to us as an impersonal order to which we 
have simply to yield. On the other side, however, no visible external — 
power but only our own most real and personal instinct enforces it 
upon_us. Sociologically this is of interest as an example of a wholly 
peculiar form of reaction between the individual and his group. 
The social force is here completely grown into the individual himself. 

We now turn to the second sociological question raised by the 
case of subordination to an impersonal] ideal principle. How does 


ACCOM MODATION 703 


this subordination affect the reciprocal relation of the persons thus 
subordinated in common? The development of the position of the 
pater familias among the Aryans exhibits this process clearly. The 
power of the pater familias was originally unlimited and entirely sub- 
jective; that is, his momentary desire, his personal advantage, was 
permitted to give the decision upon all regulations. But this arbi- 
trary power gradually became limited ,by a feeling of responsibility. 
The unity of the domestic group, embodied in the spiritus familiaris, 
grew into the ideal power, in relation to which the lord of the whole 
came to regard himself as merely an obedient agent. Accordingly it 
follows that morals and custom, instead of subjective preference, 
determine his acts, his decisions, his judicial judgments; that he no 
longer behaves astthough he were absolute lord of the family property, 
but rather the manager-of it-in-the interest of the whole; that his 
position bears more the character of an official station than that of 
an unlimited right. ‘Thus the relation between superiors and inferiors 
is placed upon an entirely new basis. The family is thought of as 
standing above all the individual members. The guiding patriarch 
himself is, like every other member, subordinate to the family idea. 
He may give directions to the other members of the family only in 
the name Sh ie higher ideal unity. 


BE chi Sif 6 CONFLICT AND ACCOMMODATION 


1. War and Peace as Types of Conflict and Accommodation‘ 





fie 


It is obvious that the transition from war to peace must present 
a more considerable problem than the reverse, i.e., the transition 
from peace to war. The latter really needs no particular scrutiny. 
For the situations existing in time of peace are precisely the condi- 
tions out of which war emerges and contain in themselves struggle in 
a diffused, unobserved, or latent form. For instance, if the economic 
advantage which the southern states of the American Union had over 
the northern states in the Civil War as a consequence of the slave 
system was also the reason for this war, still, so long as no antagonism 
arises from it, but is merely immanent in the existing conditions, this 
- source of conflict did not become specifically a question of war and 
peace. At the moment, however, at which the antagonism began to 
assume a color which meant war, an accumulation of antagonisms, 


t Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel by Albion W. Small, ‘The 
Sociology of Conflict,” in the American Journal of Sociology, IX (1903-4), 799-802 


~ 


Ps 


704 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


feelings of hatred, newspaper polemics, frictions between private 
persons, and on the borders reciprocal moral equivocations in matters 
outside of the central antithesis at once manifested themselves. The 
transition from peace to war is thus not distinguished by a special 
sociological situation. /Rather out of relationships existing within a 
peaceful situation antagonism is developed immediately, in its most 
visible and energetic form.) ‘The case is different, however, if the 
matter is viewed from the opposite priveee se does not follow 
so immediately upon conflict. The termination of strife is a special 
undertaking which belongs neither in the one category nor in the 
other, like a bridge which is of a different nature from that of either 
bank which it unites. The sociology of struggle demands, there- 
fore, at least as an appendix, an analysis of the forms in which con- 
flict is terminated, and these exhibit certain special forms of reaction 
not to be observed in other circumstances. 

The particuiar motive which in most cases corresponds with the 
transition from war to peace is the simple longing for peace. With 
the emergence of this factor there comes into being, as a matter of 
fact, peace itself, at first in the form of the wish immediately parallel 
with the struggle itself, and it may without any special transitional 
form displace struggle. We need not pause long to observe that the 
desire for peace may spring up both directly and indirectly; the 
former may occur either through the return to power of this peace- 
ful character in the party which is essentially in favor of peace; or 
through the fact that, through the mere change of the formal stimulus 
of struggle and of peace which is peculiar to all natures, although in 
different rhythms, the latter comes to the surface and assumes a 
control which is sanctioned by its own nature alone. In the case of 
the indirect motive, however, we may distinguish on the one hand, 
the exhaustion of resources which, without removal of the persistent 
contentiousness, may instal the demand for-peace;jand, on the other 
hand, the Withdrawal of interest from struggle through a higher 
interest In some other object. The latter case begets all sorts of 
hypocrisies and self-deceptions. Qt is asserted and believed that 
peace is desired from ideal interest in peace itself and the suppres- 
sion of antagonism, while in SER ete 
its interest_and the fighters-would prefer to have their powers free 


t 


ACCOMMODATION 705 


The simplest and most radical sort of passage from war to peace 
is yictory—a quite unique phenomenon in life, of which there are, to 
be sure, countless individual forms and measures, which, however, 
have no resemblance to any of the otherwise mentioned forms which 
may occur between persons. Victory is a mere watershed between 
war and peace;—when considered absolutely, only an ideal structure 
Pree cis. iteelt over no considerable time. For so long as 
struggle endures there is no definitive victor, and when peace exists 
a victory has been gained but the act of victory has ceased to exist. 
Of the many shadings of victory, through which it qualifies the follow- 
ing peace, I mention here merely as an illustration the one which is 
brought about, not exclusively by the preponderance of the one 
party, but, at least in part, through the resignation of the other. 
This confession of inferiority, this acknowledgment of defeat, or this 
consent that victory shall go to the other party without complete 
exhaustion of the resources and chances for struggle, is by no means 
always a simple phenomenon. A certain ascetic tendency may also 
enter in as a purely individual factor, the tendency to self-humiliation 
and to self-sacrifice, not strong enough to surrender one’s self from 
the start without a struggle, but emerging so soon as the conscious- 
ness of being vanquished begins to take possession of the soul; or 
another variation may be that of finding its supreme charm in the 
contrast to the still vital and active disposition to struggle. Still 
further, there is impulse to the same conclusion in the feeling that it 
is worthier to yield rather than to trust to the last moment in the 
improbable chance of a fortunate turn of affairs. To throw away 
this chance and to elude at this price the final consequences that 
would be involved in utter defeat—this has something of the great 
and noble qualities of men who are sure, not merely of their strengths, 
but also of their weaknesses, without making it necessary for them in 
each case to make these perceptibly conscious. Finally, in this 
voluntariness of confessed defeat there is a last proof of power on the 
part of the agent; the latter has of himself been able to act. He 
has therewith virtually made a gift to the conqueror. Consequently, 
it is often to be observed in personal conflicts that the concession of 
the one party, before the other has actually been able to compel it, 
is regarded by the latter as a sort of insult, as though this latter party 
were really the weaker, to whom, however, for some reason or other, 
there is made a concession without its being really necessary. Behind 


706 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the objective reasons for yielding “for the sake of sweet peace” a 
mixture of these subjective motives is not seldom concealed. The 
latter may not be entirely without visible consequences, however, for 
the further sociological attitude of the parties. In complete anti- 
thesis with the end of strife by victory is its ending by compromise. 
One of the most characteristic ways of subdividing struggles is on 
the basis of whether they are of a nature which admits of compromise 


or not. 
2. Compromise and Accommodation’ 


On the whole, compromise, especially of that type which is 
brought to pass through negotiation, however commonplace and 
matter of fact it has come to be in the processes of modern life, is 
one of the most important inventions for the uses of civilization. 
The impulse of uncivilized men, like that of children, is to seize upon 
every desirable object without further consideration, even though it 
be already in the possession of another. Robbery and gift are the 
most naive forms of transfer of possession, and under primitive con- 
ditions change of possession seldom takes place without a struggle. 
It is the beginning of all civilized industry and commerce to find a 
way of avoiding this struggle through a process in which there is 
offered to the possessor of a desired object some other object from 
the possessions of the person desiring the exchange. Through this 
arrangement a reduction is made in the total expenditure of energy. 
as compared with the process of continuing or beginning a struggle. 

All exchange is a compromise. _We are told of certain social condi- 

tions in which it is accountéd as knightly to rob and to fight for the 
sake of robbery; while exchange and purchase are regarded in the 
same society as undignified and vulgar. The psychological explana- 
tion of this situation is to be found partly in the fact of the element 
of compromise in exchange, the factors of withdrawal and renuncia- 
tion which make exchange the opposite pole to all struggle and con- 
quest. Every exchange presupposes that values and interest have 
assumed an objective character. The decisive element is accordingly 
no longer the mere subjective passion of desire, to which struggle alone 
corresponds, but the value of the object, which is recognized by both 
interested parties but which without essential modification may be 


t Adapted from a translation of Georg Simmel by Albion W. Small, “The 
Sociology of Conflict,” in the American Journal of Sociology, TX (1903-4), 804-6. 


‘ 


i 


ACCOMMODATION 707 


represented by various objects. Renunciation of the valued object 
in question, because one receives in another form the quantum of 
value contained in the same, is an admirable reason, wonderful also 
in its simplicity, whereby opposed interests are brought to accommo- 
dation without struggle. It certainly required a long historical 
development to make such means available, because it presupposes 
a psychological generalization of the universal valuation of the 
individual object, an abstraction, in other words, of the value for 
. the objects with which it is at first identified; that is, it presupposes 
ability to rise above the prejudices of immediate desire. Com- 
promise by representation, of which exchange is a special case, 
signifies in principle, although realized only in part, the possibility 
of avoiding struggle or of setting a limit to it before the mere force 
of the interested parties has decided the issue. 

In distinction from the objective character of accommodation of 
struggle through compromise, we should notice that conciliation is a 
purely subjective method of avoiding struggle. I refer here not to 
that sort of conciliation which is the consequence of a compromise or 
of any other adjournment of struggle but rather to the reasons for 
this adjournment. The state of mind which makes conciliation 
possible is an elementary attitude which, entirely apart from objec- 
tive grounds, seeks to end struggle, just as, on the other hand, a dis- 
position to quarrel, even without any real occasion, promotes struggle. 
Probably both mental attitudes have been developed as matters of 
utility in connection with certain situations; at any rate, they have 
been developed psychologically to the extent of independent impulses, 
each of which is likely to make itself-felt where the other would be 
more practically useful. We may even say that in the countless 
cases in which struggle is ended otherwise than in the pitiless con- 
sistency of the exercise of force, this quite elementary and unreasoned 
tendency to conciliation is a factor in the result—a factor quite dis- 
tinct from weakness, or good fellowship; from social morality or 
fellow-feeling. This tendency to conciliation is, in fact, a quite 
specific sociological impulse which manifests itself exclusively as a 
pacificator, and is not even identical with the peaceful disposition in 
general. The latter avoids strife under all circumstances, or carries 
it on, if it is once undertaken, without going to extremes, and 
always with the undercurrents of longing for peace. The spirit of 


708 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


conciliation, however, manifests itself frequently in its full peculiarity 
precisely after complete surrender to the struggle, after the conflicting 
energies have exercised themselves to the full in the conflict. 
Conciliation depends very definitely upon the external situation. 
It can occur both after the complete victory of the one party and 
after the progress of indecisive struggle, as well as after the arrange- 
ment of the compromise. Either of these situations may end the 
struggle without the added conciliation of the opponents. To bring 


about the latter it is not necessary that there shall be a supplemen- . 


tary repudiation or expression of regret with reference to the struggle. 
Moreover, conciliation is to be distinguished from the situation which 
may follow it. This may be either a relationship of attachment or 
alliance, and reciprocal respect, or a certain permanent distance 
which avoids all positive contacts. Conciliation is thus.a removal of 
the roots of conflict, without reference to the fruits which these 


formerly bore, as well.asto-that which may later-be planted in their 


ae 
one 


. COMPETITION, STATUS, AND SOCIAL SOLIDARITY ° 


1. Personal Competition, Social Selection, and Status' 


The function of personal competition, considered as a part of 
the social system, is to assign to each individual his place in that 
system. If “‘all the world’s a stage,” this is a process that distributes 
the parts among the players. It may do it well or ill, but after some 
fashion it does it. Some may be cast in parts unsuited to them; 
good actors may be discharged altogether and worse ones retained; 
but nevertheless the thing is arranged in some way and the play 
goes on. 

That such a process must exist can hardly, it seems to me, admit 
of question; in fact, I believe that those who speak of doing away 
with competition use the word in another sense than is here intended. 
Within the course of the longest human life there is necessarily a 
complete renewal of the persons whose communication and co- 
operation make up the life of society. The new members come into 
the world without any legible sign to indicate what they are fit for, 
a mystery to others from the first and to themselves as soon as they 


t Adapted from Charles H. Cooley, “Personal Competition,” in Economic 
Studies, TV (1899), No. 2, 78-86. 


ae ee 


ACCOMMODATION 700 


are capable of reflection: the young man does not know for what he 
is adapted, and no one else can tell him. The only possible way to 
get light upon the matter is to adopt the method of experiment. By 
trying one thing and another and by reflecting upon his experience, 
he begins to find out about himself, and the world begins to find out 
about him. His field of investigation is of course restricted, and his 
own judgment and that of others liable to error, but the tendency of 
it all can hardly be other than to guide his choice to that one 
of the available careers in which he is best adapted to hold his own. 
I may say this much, perhaps, without assuming anything regarding 
the efficiency or justice of competition as a distributor of social 
functions, a matter regarding which I shall offer some suggestions 
later. All I wish to say here is that the necessity of some selective 
process is inherent in the conditions of social life. 

It will be apparent that, in the sense in which I use the term, 
competition is not necessarily a hostile contention, nor even some- 
thing of which the competing individual is always conscious. From 
our infancy onward throughout life judgments are daily forming 
regarding us of which we are unaware, but which go to determine 
our careers. ‘‘The world is full of judgment days.” A and B, for 
instance, are under consideration for some appointment; the experi- 
ence and personal qualifications of each are duly weighed by those 
having the appointment to make, and A, we will say, is chosen. 
Neither of the two need know anything about the matter until the 
selection is made. It is eligibility to perform some social function 
that makes a man a competitor, and he may or may not be aware 
of it, or, if aware of it, he may or may not be consciously opposed to 
others. I trust that the reader will bear in mind that I always use 
the word competition in the sense here explained. 

There is but one alternative to competition as a means of deter- 
mining the place of the individual in the social system, and that is 
some form of status, some fixed, mechanical rule, usually a rule of 
inheritance, which decides the function of the individual without 
reference to his personal traits, and thus dispenses with any process 
of comparison. It is possible to conceive of a society organized 
entirely upon the basis of the inheritance of functions, and indeed 
societies exist which may be said to approach this condition. In 
India, for example, the prevalent idea regarding the social function 


710 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of the individual is that it is unalterably determined by his parentage, 
and the village blacksmith, shoemaker, accountant, or priest has his 
place assigned to him by a rule of descent as rigid as that which 
governs the transmission of one of the crowns of Europe. If all 
functions were handed down in this way, if there were never any 
deficiency or surplus of children to take the place of their parents, 
if there were no progress or decay in the social system making neces- 
sary new activities or dispensing with old ones, then there would be 
no use for a selective process. But precisely in the measure that a 
society departs from this condition, that individual traits are recog- 
nized and made available, or social change of any sort comes to pass, 
in that measure must there be competition. 

Status is not an active process, as competition is; it is simply a 
rule of conservation, a makeshift to avoid the inconveniences of con- 
tinual readjustment in the social structure. Competition or selection 
is the only constructive principle, and everything worthy the name of 
organization had at some time or other a competitive origin. At the 
present day the eldest son of a peer may succeed to a seat in the 
House of Lords simply by right of birth; but his ancestor got the seat 
by competition, by some exercise of personal qualities that made 
him valued or loved or feared by a king or a minister. 

Sir Henry Maine has pointed out that the increase of competition 
is a characteristic trait of modern life, and that the powerful ancient 
societies of the old world were for the most part non-competitive in 
their structure. While this is true, it would be a mistake to draw 
the inference that status is a peculiarly natural or primitive principle 
of organization and competition a comparatively recent discovery. 
On the contrary the spontaneous relations among men, as we see in 
the case of children, and as we may infer from the life of the lower 
animals, are highly competitive, personal prowess and ascendency 
being everything and little regard being paid to descent simply as 
such. The régime of inherited status, on the other hand, is a com- 
paratively complex and artificial product, necessarily of later growth, 
whose very general prevalence among the successful societies of the 
old world is doubtless to be explained by the stability and conse- 
quently the power which it was calculated to give to the social system. 
It survived because under certain conditions it was the fittest. It 


ACCOMMODATION git 


was not and is not universally predominant among savages or bar- 
barous peoples. With the American Indians, for example, the 
definiteness and authority of status were comparatively small, per- 
sonal prowess and initiative being correspondingly important. The 
interesting monograph on Omaha sociology, by Dorsey, published by 
the United States Bureau of Ethnology, contains many facts showing 
that the life of this people was highly competitive. When the tribe 
was at war any brave could organize an expedition against the enemy, 
if he could induce enough others to join him, and this organizer 
usually assumed the command. In a similar way the managers of 
the hunt were chosen because of personal skill; and, in general, 
“any man can win a name and rank in the state by becoming ‘ wacuce’ 
or brave, either in war or by the bestowal of gifts and the frequent 
giving of feasts.” 

Throughout history there has been a struggle between the prin- 
ciples of status and competition regarding the part that each should 
play in the social system. Generally speaking the advantage of 
status is in its power to give order and continuity. As Gibbon 
informs us, ‘‘The superior prerogative of birth, when it has obtained 
the sanction of time and popular opinion, is the plainest and least 
invidious of all distinctions among mankind,” and he is doubtless 
right in ascribing the confusion of the later Roman Empire largely 
to the lack of an established rule for the transmission of imperial 


authority. The chief danger of statu al 


development, and_so—of—causingsocial _enfeeblement,-rigidity,—amd 
ee other hand, competition develops the 
individual and gives flexibility and animation to the social order, 
its danger being chiefly that of disintegration in some form or other. 
The general tendency in modern times has been toward the relative 
increase of the free or competitive principle, owing to the fact that 
the rise of other means of securing stability has diminished the need 
for status. The latter persists, however, even in the freest countries, 
as the method by which wealth is transmitted, and also in social 
classes, which, so far as they exist at all, are based chiefly upon 
inherited wealth and the culture and opportunities that go with it. 
The ultimate reason for this persistence—without very serious oppo- 
sition—in the face of the obvious inequalities and limitations upon 


712 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


liberty that it perpetuates is perhaps the fact that no other method 
of transmission has arisen that has shown itself capable of giving 
continuity and order to the control of wealth. 


2. Personal Competition and the Evolution of Individual Types’ 


The ancient city was primarily a fortress, a place of refuge in 
time of war. The modern city, on the contrary, is primarily a con- 
venience of commerce and owes its existence to the market place 
around which it sprang up. Industrial competition and the division 
of labor, which have probably done most to develop the latent 
powers of mankind, are possible only upon condition of the existence 
of markets, of money and other devices for the facilitation of trade 
and commerce. 

The old adage which describes the city as the natural environ- 
ment of the free man still holds so far as the individual man finds in 
the chances, the diversity of interests and tasks, and in the vast 
unconscious co-operation of city life, the opportunity to choose his 
own vocation and develop his peculiar individual talents. The city 
offers a market for the special talents of individual men. Personal | 
competition tends to select for each special task the individual who’ 
is best suited to perform it. 


The difference of natural talents in different men is, in reality, much 
less than we are aware of; and the very different genius which appears to 
distinguish men of different professions, when grown up to maturity, is not 
upon many occasions so much the cause, as the effect of the division of 
labour. The difference between the most dissimilar characters, between a 
philosopher and a common street porter, for example, seems to arise not so 
much from nature, as from habit, custom and education. When they came 
into the world, and for the first six or eight years of their existence, they 
were perhaps very much alike, and neither their parents nor playfellows 
could perceive any remarkable difference. About that age, or soon after, 
they come to be employed in different occupations. ‘The difference of 
talents comes then to be taken notice of, and widens by degrees, till at 
last the vanity of the philosopher is willing to acknowledge scarce any 
resemblance. But without the disposition to truck, barter, and exchange, 
every man must have procured to himself every necessary and conveniency. 
of life which he wanted. All must have had the same duties to perform, 
and the same work to do, and there could have been no such difference of 


*From Robert E. Park, ‘The City,” in the American Journal of Sociology, 
XX (1915), 584-86. 


ACCOMMODATION 713 


employment as could alone give occasion to any great difference of 
talent. 

As it is the power of exchanging that gives occasion to the division of 
labour, so the extent of this division must always be limited by the extent 
of that power, or, in other words, by the extent of the market. .... There 
are some sorts of industry, even of the lowest kind, which can be carried 
on nowhere but in a great town. 


Success, under conditions of personal competition, depends upon 
concentration upon some single task, and this concentration stimu- 
lates the demand for rational methods, technical devices, and excep- 
tional skill. Exceptional skill, while based on natural talent, requires 
special preparation, }and it has called into existence the trade and 
professional schools, and finally bureaus for vocational guidance. 
All of these, either directly or indirectly, serve at once to select and / 
emphasize individual differences. 

Every device which facilitates trade-and industry prepares the} 
way for a further division of labor and so tends further to specialize | 
the tasks in which men find their vocations. 

The outcome of this process is to break down or modify the older | 
organization of society, which was based on family ties, on local 
associations, on culture, caste, and status, and to substitute for it 
an organization based on vocational interests. 

In the city every vocation, even that of a beggar, tends to assume 
the character of a profession, and the discipline which success in any 
vocation imposes, together with the associations that it enforces, 
emphasizes this tendency. 

The effect of the vocations and the division of labor is to produce, 
in the first instance, not social groups but vocational types—the actor, 
the plumber, and the lumber-jack. The organizations, like the 
trade and labor unions, which men of the same trade or profession 
form are based on common interests. In this respect they differ 
from forms of association like the neighborhood, which are based on 
contiguity, personal association, and the common ties of humanity. 
The different trades and professions seem disposed to group them- 
_ selves in classes, that is to say, the artisan, business, and professional 
classes. But in the modern democratic state the classes have as 
yet attained no effective organization. Socialism, founded on an 
effort to create an organization based on “class consciousness,’ has 
never succeeded in creating more than a political party. 


714 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The effects of the division of labor as a discipline may therefore 
be best studied in the vocational types it has produced. Among the 
types which it would be interesting to study are: the shopgirl, the 
policeman, the peddler, the cabman, the night watchman, the clair- 
voyant, the vaudeville performer, the quack doctor, the bartender, 
the ward boss, the strike-breaker, the labor agitator, the school 
teacher, the reporter, the stockbroker, the pawnbroker; all of these 
are characteristic products of the conditions of city life; each with 
its special experience, insight, and point of view determines for each 
vocation:! group and for the city as a whole its individuality. 


+. Division of Labor and Social Solidarity’ 


The most remarkable effect of the division of labor is not that it 
accentuates the distinction of functions ions already divided b but that it 





‘dependent, Its réle in every case is not simply to 
embellish or perfect existing societies but to make possible societies 
which, without it, would not exist. Should the division of labor 
between the sexes be diminished beyond a certain point, the family 
would cease to exist and only ephemeral sexual relations would 
remain. If the sexes had never been separated at all, no form of 
social life would ever have arisen. It is possible that the economic 
utility of the division of labor has been_a_factorin-preducing the 
existing form of conjugal society. Nevertheless, the society thus 
created is not limited to merely economic interests; it represents a 
unique social and moral order. Individuals are mutually bound 
together who otherwise would be independent. Instead of develop- 
ing separately, they concert their efforts; they are interdependent 
parts of a unity which is effective not only in the brief moments 
during which there is an interchange of services but afterward indeti- 
nitely. For example, does not conjugal solidarity of the type which 
exists today among the most cultivated people exert its influence 
constantly and in all the details of life? On the other hand, societies 
which are created by the division of labor inevitably bear the mark 
of their origin. SJiaving this special origin, it is not possible that they 
should resemble those societies which have their origin in the attrac- 
tion of like for like; the latter are inevitably constituted in another 

1 Translated and adapted from Emile Durkheim, La division du travail social, 
pp. 24-209. (Félix Alcan, 1902.) 


ACCOMMODATION 715 


manner, repose on other foundations, and appeal to other senti- 
ments. 

The assumption that the social relations resulting from the: 
division of labor consist in an exchange of services merely is a mis- 
conception of what this exchange implies and of the effects it produces. 
it assumes that two beings are mutually dependent the one on the 
other, because they are both incomplete without the other. It 
interprets this mutual dependence as a purely external relation. 
Actually this is merely the superficial expression of an internal and 
more profound state. Precisely because this state is constant, it 
provokes a complex of mental images which function with a con- 
tinuity independent of the series of external relations. The image 
of that which completes us is inseparable from the image of ourselves, 
not only because it is associated with us, but especially because it is 
our natural complement. It becomes then a permanent and integral 
part of self-consciousness to such an extent that we cannot do with- 
out it and seek by every possible means to emphasize and intensify 
it. We like the society of the one whose image haunts us, because 
the presence of the object reinforces the actual perception and gives 
us comfort. We suffer, on the contrary, from every circumstance 
which, like separation and death, is likely to prevent the return or 
diminish the vivacity of the idea which has become identified with 
our idea of ourselves. 

Short as this analysis is, it suffices to show that this complex is 
not identical with that which rests on sentiments of sympathy which 
have their source in mere likeness. Unquestionably there can be 
the sense of solidarity between others and ourselves only so far as 
we conceive others united with ourselves. When the union results 
from a perception of likeness, it is a cohesion. The two representa- 
tions become consolidated because, being undistinguished totally or 
in part, they aré mingled and are no more than one, and are con- 
solidated only in the measure in which they are mingled. On the 
contrary, in the case of the division of labor, each is outside the other, 
and they are united only because they are distinct. It is not possible 
that sentiments should be the same in the two cases, nor the social 
relations which are derived from them the same. 

Weare then led to ask ourselves if the division of labor does not play | 
the same réle in more extended groups; if, in the contemporaneous’ 


? 


716 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


societies where its has had a development with which we are 
familiar, it does not function in such a way as to integrate the social 
body and to assure its unity. It is quite legitimate to assume that 
the facts which we have observed reproduce themselves there, but 
on a larger scale. ‘The great political societies, like smaller ones, we 
may assume maintain themselves in equilibrium, thanks to the 
specialization of their tasks. The division of labor is here, again, if 
not the only, at least the principal, source of the social solidarity. 
Comte had already reached this point of view. Of all the sociolo- 
gists, so far as we know, he is the first who has pointed out in the 
division of labor anything other than a purely economic phenomenon. 
He has seen there “the most essential condition of the social life,” 
provided that one conceives it “in all its rational extent, that is to 
say, that one applies the conception to the ensemble of all our 
diverse operations whatsoever, instead of limiting it, as we so often 
do, to the simple material usages.” Considered under this aspect, 
he says: 


It immediately leads us to regard not only individuals and classes but 
also, in many respects, the different peoples as constantly participating, in 
their own characteristic ways and in their own proper degree, in an immense 
and common work whose inevitable development gradually unites the actual 
co-operators in a series with their predecessors and at the same time in a 
series with their successors. It is, then, the continuous redivison of our 
diverse human labors which mainly constitutes social solidarity and which 
becomes the elementary cause of the extension and increasing complexity 
of the social organism. 


If this hypothesis is demonstrated, division of labor plays a réle 
much more important than that which has ordinarily been attributed 
to it. It is not to be regarded as a mere luxury, desirable perhaps, 
but not indispensable to society; it is rather a condition of its very 
existence. It is this, or at least it is mainly this, that assures the 
solidarity of social groups; it determines the essential traits of their 
constitution. It follows—even though we are not yet prepared to 
give a final solution to the problem, we can nevertheless foresee 
from this point—that, if such is really the function of the division 
of labor, it may be expected to have a moral character, because the 
needs of order, of harmony, of social solidarity generally, are what 
we understand by moral needs. 


ACCOMMODATION 717 


Social life is derived from a double source: (a) from a similarity 
of minds, and (#) from the division of labor. The individual is 
socialized in the first case, because, not having his own individuality, 
he is confused, along with his fellows, in the bosom of the same collec- 
tive type; in the second case, because, even though he possesses a 
physiognomy and a temperament which distinguish him from others, 
he is dependent upon these in the same measure in which he is dis- 
tinguished from them. Society results from this union. 

Like-mindedness gives birth to judicial regulations which, under 
the menace of measures of repression, impose upon everybody uniform 
beliefs and practices. ‘The more pronounced this like-mindedness, 
the more completely the social is confused with the religious life, the 
more nearly economic institutions approach communism. 

The division of labor, on the other hand, gives birth to regulations 
and laws which determine the nature and the relations of the divided 
functions, but the violation of which entails only punitive measures 
not of an expiatory character. 

Every code of laws is accompanied by a body of regulations 
purely moral. Where the penal law is voluminous, moral consensus 
is very extended; that is to say, a multitude of collective activities 
is under the guardianship of public opinion. Where the right of 
reparation is well developed, there each profession maintains a code 
of professional ethics. In a group of workers there invariably exists 
a body of opinion, diffused throughout the limits of the group, which, 
although not fortified with legal sanctions, still enforces its decrees. 
There are manners and customs, recognized by all the members of 
a profession, which no one of them could infringe without incurring 
the blame of society. Certainly this code of morals is distinguished 
from the preceding by differences analogous to those which separate 
the two corresponding kinds of laws. It is, in fact, a code localized 
in a limited region of society. Furthermore, the repressive character 
of the sanctions which are attached to it is sensibly less accentuated. 
Professional faults arouse a much feebler response than offenses 
against the mores of the larger society. 

Nevertheless, the customs and code of a profession are imperative. 
They oblige the individual to act in accordance with ends which to 
him are not his own, to make concessions, to consent to compromises, 
to take account of interests superior to his own. The consequence 


718 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


is that, even where the society rests most completely upon the divi- 
sion of labor, it does not disintegrate into a dust of atoms, between 
which there can exist only external and temporary contacts. Every 
function which one individual exercises is invariably dependent upon 
functions exercised by others and forms with them a system of 
interdependent parts. It follows that, from the nature of the task 
one chooses, corresponding duties follow. Because we fill this or 
that domestic or social function, we are imprisoned in a net of obliga- 
tions from which we do not have the right to free ourselves. ‘There is 
~ especially one organ toward which our state of dependencies is ever 
increasing—the state. The points at which we are in contact with 
it are multiplying. So are the occasions in which it takes upon 
itself to recall us to a sense of the common solidarity. 

There are then two great currents in the social life, collectivism 
and individualism, corresponding to which we discover two types of 
structure not less different. Of these currents, that which has its 
origin in like-mindedness is at first alone and without rival. At 
this moment it is identified with the very life of the society; little 
by little it finds its separate channels and diminishes, whilst the second 
becomes ever larger. In the same way, the segmentary structure of 
society is more and more overlaid by the other, but without ever 
disappearing completely. 


Ill. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. Forms of Accommodation 


The literature upon accommodation will be surveyed under four 
heads; (a) forms of accommodation; (0) subordination and super- 
ordination; (c) accommodation groups; and (d) social organization. 

The term accommodation, as has been noted, developed as a 
differentiation within the field of the biological concept of adapta- 
tion. Ward’s dictum that ‘the environment transforms the animal, 
while man transforms the environment’ contained the distinction. 
Thomas similarly distinguished between the animal with its method 
of adaptation and man with his method of control. Bristol in his 
work on Social Adaptation is concerned, as the subtitle of the volume 
indicates, “‘with the development of the doctrine of adaptation as a 


t Pure Sociology, p. 16. 


ACCOMMODATION 719 


theory of social progress.’”’ Of the several types of adaptation that 
he proposes, however, all but the first represent accommodations. 
Baldwin, though not the first to make the distinction, was the first 
student to use the separate term accommodation. ‘By accommoda- 
tion old habits are broken up, and new co-ordinations are made which 
are more complex.’”? 

Baldwin suggested a division of accommodation into the three 
fields: acclimatization, naturalization, and equilibrium. ‘The term 
equilibrium accurately describes the type of organization established 
by competition between the different biological species and the 
environment, but not the more permanent organizations of individuals 
and groups which we find in human society. In human society 
equilibrium means organization. ‘The research upon acclimatization 
is considerable, although there is far from unanimity of opinion in 
regard to its findings. 

Closely related to acclimatization but in the field of social naturali- 
zation are the accommodations that take place in colonization and 
immigration. In colonization the adjustment is not only to climatic 
conditions but to the means of livelihood and habits of life required 
by the new situation. Historic colonial settlements have not infre- 
quently been made in inhospitable areas, and that involved accommo- 
dations to primitive peoples of different and generally lower cultural 
‘ level than the settlers. Professor Keller’s work on Colonization 
surveys the differences in types of colonial ventures and describes 
the adjustments involved. It includes also a valuable bibliography 
of the literature of the subject. 

In immigration the accommodation to the economic situation 
and to the folkways and mores of the native society are more impor- 
tant than in colonization. ‘The voluminous literature upon immigra- 
tion deals but slightly with the interesting accommodations of the 
newcomer to his new environment. One of the important factors in 
the process, as emphasized in the recent “‘Americanization Study” of 
the Carnegie Corporation, is the immigrant community which serves 
as a mediating agency between the familiar and the strange. The 
‘ greater readiness of accommodation of recent immigrants as compared 
with that of an earlier period has been explained in terms of facilities 


* Mental Development in the Child and the Race, p. 23. 


720 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of transportation, communication, and even more in the mobility 
of employment in large-scale modern industry with its minute sub- 
division of labor and its slight demand for skill and training on the 
part of the employees. 

The more subtle forms of accommodation to new social situations 
have not been subjected to analysis, although there is a small but 
important number of studies upon homesickness. In fiction, to 
be sure, the difficulties of the tenderfoot in the frontier community, or 
the awkward rural lad in an urban environment and the nouveaux 
riches in their successful entrée among the social élite are often accu- 
rately and sympathetically described. ‘The recent immigrant auto- 
biographies contain materials which throw much new light on the 
situation of the immigrant in process of accommodation to the 
American environment. 

The whole process of social organization is involved in the processes 
by which persons find their places in groups and groups are articulated 
into the life of the larger and more inclusive societies. The literature 
on the taming of animals, the education of juveniles and adults, and 
on social control belongs in this field. ‘The writings on diplomacy, on 
statescraft, and upon adjudication of disputes are also to be con- 
sidered here. The problem of the person whether in the narrow 
field of social work or the broader fields of human relations is funda- 
mentally a problem of the adjustment of the person to his social 
milieu, to his family, to his primary social groups, to industry, and to 
cultural, civic, and religious institutions. The problems of com- 
munity organization are for the most part problems of accommodation, 
of articulation of groups within the community and of the adjustment 
of the local community to the life of the wider community of which it 
is a part. 

Adjustments of personal and social relations in the past have been 
made unreflectively and with a minimum of personal and social con- 
sciousness. ‘The extant literature reveals rather an insistent demand 
for these accommodations than any systematic study of the processes 
by which the accommodations take place. Simmel’s observation 
upon subordination and superordination is almost the only attempt 
that has been made to deal with the subject from the point of view 
of sociology. 


ACCOMMODATION 721 


2. Subordination and Superordination 


Materials upon subordination and superordination may be found 
in the literature under widely different names. Thorndike, Mc- 
Dougall, and others have reported upon the original tendencies in 
the individual to domination and submission or to self-assertion 
and self-abasement. Veblen approaches nearer to a sociological 
explanation in his analysis of the self-conscious attitudes of invidious 
comparison and conspicuous waste in the leisure class. 

The application of our knowledge of rapport, esprit de corps, and 
morale to an explanation of personal conduct and group behavior 
is one of the most promising fields for future research. In the family, 
rapport and consensus represent the most complete co-ordination of 
its members. The life of the family should be studied intensively 
in order to define more exactly the nature of the family consensus, 
the mechanism of family rapport, and minor accommodations made 
to minimize conflict and to avert tendencies to disintegration in the 
interest of this real unity. 

Strachey’s Life of Queen Victoria sketches an interesting case of 
subordination and superordination in which the queen is the sub- 
ordinate, and her adroit but cynical minister, Disraeli, is the master. 

Future research will provide a more adequate sociology of sub- 
ordination and superordination. A survey of the present output of 
material upon the nature and the effects of personal contacts rein- 
forces the need for such a fundamental study. The obsolete writ- 
ings upon personal magnetism have been replaced by the so-called 
“psychology of salesmanship,” “scientific methods of character 
reading,” and “the psychology of leadership.” ‘The wide sale of 
these books indicates the popular interest, quite as much as the lack of 
any fundamental understanding of the technique of human relations. 


3. Accommodation Groups 


The field of investigation available for the study of accommodation 
groups and their relation to conflict groups may perhaps be best illus- 
trated by the table on page 722. 

The existence of conflict groups like parties, sects, eS 
represents the area in any society of unstable equilibrium. Accommo- 
dation groups, classes, castes, and denominations on the other hand, 


722 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


represent in this sarve society the areas of stable equilibrium. A 
boys’ club carries on contests, under recognized rules, with similar 
organizations. A denomination engages in fraternal rivalry with 
other denominations for the advancement of common interests of the 
church universal. A nation possesses status, rights, and responsi- 
bilities only in a commonwealth of nations of which it is a member. 

The works upon accommodation groups are concerned almost 
exclusively with the principles, methods, and technique of organiza- 
tion. ‘There are, indeed, one or two important descriptive works 


Conflict Groups Accommodation Group 
1. Gangs 1. Clubs 
2. Labor organizations, employers’ 2. Social classes, vocational 
associations, middle-class unions, groups 
tenant protective unions 3. Castes 
3. Races 4. Denominations 
4. Sects 5. Nations 


5. Nationalities 


upon secret organizations in primitive and modern times. The 
books and articles, however, on organized boys’ groups deal with 
the plan of organization of Boy Scouts, Boys’ Brotherhood Republic, 
George Junior Republics, Knights of King Arthur, and many other 
clubs of these types. They are not studies of natural groups. 

The comparative study of social classes and vocational groups 
is an unworked field. The differentiation of social types, especially 
in urban life, and the complexity and subtlety of the social distinctions 
separating social and vocational classes, opens a fruitful prospect 
for investigation. Scattered through a wide literature, ranging 
from official inquiiies to works of fiction, there are, in occasional 
paragraphs, pages, and chapters, observations of value. 

In the field of castes the work of research is well under way. The 
caste system of India has been the subject of careful examination and 
analysis. Sighele points out that the prohibition of intermarriage 
observed in its most rigid and absolute form is a fundamental dis- 
tinction of the caste. If this be regarded as the fundamental criterion, 
the Negro race in the United States occupies the position of a caste. 
The prostitute, in America, until recently constituted a separate 
caste. With the systematic breaking up of the segregated vice 
districts in our great cities prostitution, as a caste, seems to have 


ACCOMMODATION ye, 


disappeared. ‘The place of the prostitute seems to have been occupied 
by the demimondaine who lives on the outskirts of society but who 
is not by any means an outcast. ! 

It is difficult to dissociate the materials upon nationalities from 
those upon nations. The studies, however, of the internal organiza- 
tion of the state, made to promote law and order, would come under 
the latter head. Here, also, would be included studies of the extension 
of the police power to promote the national welfare. In international 
relations studies of international law, of international courts of arbi- 
tration, of leagues or associations of nations manifest the increasing 
interest in the accommodations that would avert or postpone conflicts 
of militant nationalities. 

In the United States there isa considerable literature upon church 
federation and the community church. This literature is one expres- 
sion of the transition of the Protestant churches from sectarian 
bodies, engaged in warfare for the support of distinctive doctrines and 
dogmas, to co-operating denominations organized into the Federal 
Council of the Churches of Christ in America. 


4. Social Organization 


Until recently there has been more interest manifested in elaborat- 
ing theories of the stages in the evolution of society than in analyzing 
the structure of different types of societies. Durkheim, however, in 
De la division du travail social, indicated how the division of labor and 
the social attitudes, or the mental accommodations to the life-situation, 
shape social organization. Cooley, on the other hand, in his work 
Social Organization conceived the structure of society to be “the 
larger mind,” or an outgrowth of human nature and human ideals. 

The increasing number of studies of individual primitive commu- 
nities has furnished data for the comparative study of different kinds 
of social organization. Schurtz, Vierkandt, Rivers, Lowie, and others 
in the last twenty years have made important comparative studies in 
this field. The work of these scholars has led to the abandonment of 
the earlier notions of uniform evolutionary stages of culture in which 
’ all peoples, primitive, ancient, and modern alike, might be classified. 
New light has been thrown upon the actual accommodations in the 
small family, in the larger family group, the clan, gens or sib, in the 
secret society, and in the tribe which determined the patterns of life of 
primitive peoples under different geographical and historical conditions. 


724 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


At the present time, the investigations of social organization of 
current and popular interest have to do with the problems ’of social 
work and of community life. ‘Community organization,” “commu- 
nity action,” “know your own community” are phrases which express 
the practical motives behind the attempts at community study: 
Such investigations as have been made, with a few shining exceptions, 
the Pittsburgh Survey and the community studies of the Russell Sage 
Foundation, have been superficial. All, perhaps, have been tentative 
and experimental. The community has not been studied from a 
fundamental standpoint. Indeed, there was not available, as a 
background of method and of orientation, any adequate analysis of 
social organization. 

A penetrating analysis of the social structure of a community 
must quite naturally be based upon studies of human geography. 
Plant and animal geography has been studied, but slight attention 
has been given to human geography, that is, to the local distribution 
of persons who constitute a community and the accommodations that 
are made because of the consequent physical distances and social 
relationships. 

Ethnological and historical studies of individual communities 
furnish valuable comparative materials for a treatise upon human 
ecology which would serve as a guidebook for studies in community 
organization. C. J. Galpin’s The Social Anatomy of an Agricultural 
Community is an example of the recognition of ecological factors as 
basic in the study of social organization. 

In the bibliography of this chapter is given a list of references to 
certain of the experiments in community organization. Students 
should study this literature in the light of the more fundamental 
studies of types of social groups and studies of individual communities 
listed in an earlier bibliography.* It is at once apparent that the rural 
community has been more carefully studied than has the urban com- 
munity. Yet more experiments in community organization have 
been tried out in the city than in the country. Reports upon social- 
center activities, upon community councils, and other types of com- 
munity organization have tended to be enthusiastic rather than factual 
and critical. The most notable experiment of community organiza- 
tion, the Social Unit Plan, tried out in Cincinnati, was what the 

1 Supra, pp. 218-109. 


ACCOMMODATION. 725 


theatrical critics call a succés d’estime, but after the experiment had 
been tried it wasabandoned. Control of conditions of community life 
is not likely to meet with success unless based on an appreciation and 
understanding of human nature on the one hand, and of the natural 
or ecological organization of community life on the other. ; 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. THE PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIOLOGY OF ACCOMMODATION 


A. Accommodation Defined 


(1) Morgan, C. Lloyd, and Baldwin, J. Mark. Articles on “‘Accom- 
modation and Adaptation,” Dictionary of Philosophy and Psy- 
chology, I, 7-8, 14-15. 

(2) Baldwin, J. Mark. Mental Development in the Child and the Race. 
Methods and processes. Chap. xvi, “‘Habit and Accommodation,” 
pp. 476-88. New York, 1895. 

(3) Simmel, Georg. Soziologie. Untersuchungen tiber die Formen der 
Vergesellschaftung. ‘‘Kompromiss und Verséhnung,” pp. 330-36. 
Leipzig, 1908. 

(4) Bristol, L. M. Social Adaptation. A study in the development of 
the doctrine of adaptation as a theory of social progress. Cambridge, 
Mass., I9I5. 

(5) Ross, E. A. Principles of Sociology. ‘‘Toleration,” ‘“‘Compro- 
mise,” ‘‘Accommodation,” pp. 225-34. New York, 1920. 

(6) Ritchie, David G. Natural Rights. Chap. viii, ‘‘Toleration,” 
pp. 157-209. London, 1895. 

(7) Morley, John. On Compromise. London, 1874. 

(8) Tardieu, KE. “Le cynisme: étude psychologique,” Revue philoso- 
phique, LVII (1904), 1-28. 

(9) Jellinek, G. Die Lehre von den Staatenverbindungen. Berlin, 1882 


B. Acclimatization and Colonization - 

(1) Wallace, Alfred R. Article on “Acclimatization.” Encyclopaedia 
Britannica, I, 114-109. 

(2) Brinton, D. G. The Basis of Social Relations. A study in ethnic 
psychology. Part II, chap. iv, “The Influence of Geographic 
Environment,” pp. 180-99. New York, 1go2. 

(3) Ripley, W. Z. The Races of Europe. A_ sociological study. 

| Chap. xxi, “Acclimatization: the Geographical Future of the . 
European Races,” pp. 560-89. New York, 1899. [Bibliography.] 

(4) Virchow, Rudolph. ‘‘Acclimatization,” Popular Science Monthly, 
XXVIII (1886), 507-17. 

(5) Boas, Franz. “Changes in Bodily Form of Descendants of 
Immigrants,” Report of Immigration Commission, 1907. Wash- 

ington, IgII. 

(6) Keller, Albert G. Colonization. A study of the founding of new 
societies. Boston, 1908. [Bibliography.] 

(7) “The Value of the Study of Colonies for Sociology,” 

American Journal of Sociology, XII (1906), 417-20. 





726 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(8) Roscher, W., and Jannasch, R. Kolonien, Kolonialpolitik und 
Auswanderung. 3d ed. Leipzig, 1885. 
(9) Leroy-Beaulieu, P. De la colonisation chez les peuples modernes. 
5th ed., 2 vols. Paris, 1902. 
(ro) Huntington, Ellsworth. Civilization and Climate. Chap. _ iii, 
. ‘The White Man in the Tropics,” pp. 35-48. New Haven, rors. 
(11) Ward, Robert De C. Climate. Considered especially in relation 
toman. Chap. viii, “The Life of Man in the Tropics,” pp. 220-71. 
New York, 1908. 
(12) Bryce, James. ‘‘British Experience in the Government of 
Colonies,”’ Century, LVII (1898-99), 718-20. 


C. Superordination and Subordination 


(x) Simmel, Georg. ‘‘Superiority and Subordination as Subject Matter 
of Sociology,” translated from the German by Albion W. Small, 
American Journal of Sociology, II (1896-97), 167-89, 392-415. 

(2) Thorndike, E. L. The Original Nature of Man. ‘Mastering and 
Submissive Behavior,” pp. 92-97. New York, 1913. 

(3) McDougall, William. An Introduction to Social Psychology. “The 
Instincts of Self-Abasement (or Subjection) and of Self-Assertion 
(or Self-Display) and the Emotions of Subjection and Elation,” 
pp. 62-66. 12thed. Boston, 1917. 

(4) Miinsterberg, Hugo. Psychology, General and Applied. Chap. 
xviii, “Submission,” pp. 254-64. New York, ror4. 

(5) Galton, Francis. Inquiries into Human Faculty and Its Development. 
“‘Gregarious and Slavish Instincts,” pp. 68-82. New York, 1883. 

(6) Ellis, Havelock. Studies in the Psychology of Sex. Vol. III, 
“Analysis of the Sexual Impulse.” “Sexual Subjection,” pp. 
60-71; 85-87. Philadelphia, rora. 

(7) Calhoun, Arthur W. A Social History of the American Family. 
From colonial times to the present. Vol. II, “From Independence 
through the Civil War.” Chap. iv, “The Social Subordination 
of Woman,” pp. 79-101. 3 vols. Cincinnati, 1918. 

(8) Galton, Francis. ‘‘The First Steps toward the Domestication of 
Animals,”’ Transactions of the Ethnological Society of London, III, 
122-38. 

(9) Shaler, Nathaniel S. Domesticated Animals. “The Problem of 
Domestication,” pp. 218-64. New York, 1895. 


D. Conversion 


(x) Starbuck, Edwin D. The Psychology of Religion. London, 1899. 

(2) James, William. The Varieties of Religious Experience. Lectures 
ix and x, “Conversion,” pp. 189-258. London, 1902. 

(3) Coe, George A. The Psychology of Religion. Chap. x, “Conver- 
sion,” pp. 152-74. Chicago, 1916. 

(4) Prince, Morton. ‘‘The Psychology of Sudden Religious Con- 
version,” Journal of Abnormal Psychology, I (1906-7), 42-54. 

(5) Tawney, G. A. “The Period of Conversion,” Psychological 
Review, XI (1904), 210-16. 

(6) Partridge, G. E. Studies in the Psychology of Intemperance. 
Pp. 152-63. New York, 1912. [Mental cures of alcoholism.] 


ACCOMMODATION 727 


(7) Begbie, Harold. Twice-born Men. A clinic in regeneration. A 
footnote in narrative to Professor William James’s The Varieties 
of Religious Experience. New York, 19009. 

(8) Burr, Anna R. Religious Confessions and Confessants. With a 
chapter on the history of introspection. Boston, 1914. 

(9) Patterson, R. J. Catch-My-Pal. A story of Good Samaritanship. 
New York, 1913. 

(10) Weber, John L. ‘‘A Modern Miracle, the Remarkable Con- 
version of Former Governor Patterson of Tennessee,’ Congre- 
gationalist, XCIX (1914), 6, 8. [See also ‘The Conversion of 
Governor Patterson,” Literary Digest, XLVIII (1914), r11-12.] 


II. FORMS OF ACCOMMODATION 


A. Slavery 


(1) Letourneau, Ch. L’évolution de lesclavage dans les diverses races 
humatines. Paris, 1897. 
(2) Nieboer, Dr. H. J. Slavery as an Industrial System. Ethnological 
researches. The Hague, 1900. [Bibliography.] 
(3) Wallon, H. Histoire de Vesclavage dans lantiquité. 2d ed., 3 
vols. Paris, 1879. 
(4) Sugenheim, S. Geschichte der Aufhebung der Leibeigenschaft und 
Horigkeit in Europa bis um die Mitte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts. 
St. Petersburg, 186r. 
(5) Edwards, Bryan. The History, Civil and Commercial, of the 
British Colonies in the West Indies. 3 vols. London, 1793-1801. 
(6) Helps, Arthur. Life of Las Casas, “the Apostle of the Indies.” 
5th ed. London, 1890. 
(7) Phillips, Ulrich B. American Negro Slavery. A survey of the 
supply, employment, and control of Negro labor as determined 
by the plantation régime. New York, 1918. 
(8) . Plantation and Frontier, 1649-1863. Documentary history 
of American industrial society. Vols. I-II. Cleveland, 1910-11. 
(9) A Professional Planter. Practical rules for the management and 
medical treatment of Negro slaves in the Sugar Colonies. London, 
1803. [Excerpt in Phillips, U. B., Plantation and Frontier, I, 
1297308) 5 i 

(10) Russell, J. H. “Free Negro in Virginia, 1619-1865,” Johns 
Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science. 
Baltimore, 1913. 

(11) Olmstead, F. L. A Journey in the Seaboard Slave States. With 
remarks on their economy. New York, 1856. 

(12) Smedes, Susan D. Memorials of a Southern Planter. Baltimore, 
1887. 

(13) Sartorius von Walterhausen, August. Die Arbeitsverfassung der 
englischen Kolonien in Nordamerika. Strassburg, 1894. ; 

(14) Ballagh, James C. ‘A History of Slavery in Virginia,” Johns 
Hopkins University Studies nm Historical and Political Science. 
Baltimore, 1902. 

(15) McCormac, E. I. ‘‘White Servitude in Maryland, 1634-1820,” 
Johns H opkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science. 
Baltimore, 1904. 





728 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(16) Kemble, Frances A. Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Planta- 
tion in 1838-1839. New York, 1863. 


B. Casie 


(rt) Risley, Herbert H. The People of India. London, rors. 

(2) India. Ethnographic Appendices, being the data upon 
which the caste chapter of the report is based. Appendix IV. 
Typical Tribes and Castes. Calcutta, 1903. 

(3) Bouglé, M. C. ‘“‘Remarques générales sur le régime des castes,” 
L’ Année sociologique, IV (1899-1900), 1-64. 

(4) Crooke,W. ‘The Stability of Caste and Tribal Groups in India,” 
Journal of the Anthropological Institute, XLIV (1914), 270-81. 

(s) Bhattacharya, Jogendra Nath. Hindu Castes and Sects. An 
exposition of the origin of the Hindu caste system and the bearing 
of the sects toward each other and toward other religious systems. 
Calcutta, 1896. 

(6) Soml6, F. Der Giiterverkehr in der Urgesellschaft. “Zum Ursprung 
der Kastenbildung,” pp. 157-59. Instituts Solvay: Travaux de 
V’Institut de Sociologie. Bruxelles, 1g09. 

(7) Ratzel, Friedrich. Vélkerkunde. I, 81. 2d rev.ed. Leipzig and 
Wien, 1894. [The origin of caste in the difference of occupation.] 

(8) Iyer, L. K. A. K. The Cochin Tribes and Castes. London, 1909. 

(9) Bailey, Thomas P. Race Orthodoxy in the South. And other 
aspects of the Negro question. New York, rgr4. 


ConClasses 


(1) Biicher, Carl. Industrial Evolution. Translated from the 3d 
German edition by S. Morley Wickett. Chap. ix, “Organization 
of Work and the Formation of Social Classes,” pp. 315-44. New 
York, 1907. 

(2) Hobhouse, L. T. Morals in Evolution. A study in comparative 
ethics. Part I, chap. vii, ‘Class Relations,” pp. 270-317. New 
Yorkerors. 

(3) Schmoller, Gustav. Grundriss der allgemeinen Volkswirtschafts- 
lehre. Vol. I, Book II, chap. vi, ‘‘Die gesellschaftliche Klassen- 
bildung,” pp. 391-411. 6. Aufl. Leipzig, 1901. 

(4) Cooley, Charles H. Social Organization. Part IV, ‘Social 
Classes,” pp. 209-309. New-York, rgo9. 

(5) Bauer, Arthur. “Les classes sociales,” Revue internationale de 
sociologie, XI (1903), 119-35; 243-58; 301-16; 398-413; 474-08; 
576-87. [Includes discussions at successive meetings of the 
Société de Sociologie de Paris by G. Tarde, Ch. Limousin, H. 
Monin, René Worms, E. Delbet, L. Philippe, M. Coicou, H. 
Blondel, G. Pinet, P. Vavin, E. de Roberty, G. Lafargue, M. 
le Gouix, M. Kovalewsky, I. Loutschisky, E. Séménoff, Mme. de 
Mouromtzeff, R. de la Grasserie, E. Cheysson, D. Draghicesco.] 

(6) Bouglé, C. Les idées égalitaires. Etude sociologique. Paris, 1899. 

(7) Thomas, William I. Source Book for Social Origins. “The 
Relation of the Medicine Man to the Origin of the Professional 
Occupations,” pp. 281-303. Chicago, rgo9. 





ACCOMMODATION 72¢ 


(8) Tarde, Gabriel. ‘“L’hérédité des professions,” Revue internationale 
de sociologie, VIII (1900), 50-59. [Discussion of the subject was 
continued under the title “L’hérédité et la continuité des pro- 
fessions,” pp. 117-24, 196-207.] 

(9) Knapp, Georg F. Die Bauernbefreiung und der Ursprung der 
Landarbeiter in den dlteren Thetlen Preussens. Leipzig, 1887. 

(10) Zimmern, Alfred E. JThe Greek Commonwealth. Politics and 
economics in fifth-century Athens. Pp. 255-73, 323-47, 378-04. 
2d rev. ed. Oxford, tors. 

(11) Mallock, W. H. Aristocracy and Evolution. A study of the 
rights, the origin, and the social functions of the wealthier classes. 
New York, 1808. 

(12) Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class. An economic 
study in the evolution of institutions. New York, 1899. 

(13) D’Aeth, F. G. ‘Present Tendencies of Class Differentiation,” 
Sociological Review, III (1910), 267-76. 


III. ACCOMMODATION AND ORGANIZATION 
A. Social Organization 


(1) Durkheim, E. De la division du travail social. 2ded. Paris, 1902. 
(2) Cooley, Charles H. Social Organization. A study of the larger 
mind. Part V, “Institutions,” pp. 313-92. New York, 1909. 

(3) Salz, Arthur. ‘‘Zur Geschichte der Berufsidee,” Archiv fiir Sozial- 

wissenschaft, XX XVII (1913), 380-423. 

(4) Rivers, W.H.R. Social Organization. Preface by G. Elliot Smith. 
New York, 1924. 

(5) Schurtz, Heinrich. Altersklassen und Médnnerbiinde. Eine Dar- 
stellung der Grundformen der Gesellschaft. Berlin, 1902. 

(6) Vierkandt, A. “Die politischen Verhiltnisse der Naturvélker,”’ 
Zeitschrift fiir Sozialwissenschaft, IV, 417-26, 497-510. 

(7) Lowie, Robert H. Primitive Society. Chap. x, “‘Associations,”’ 
chap. xi, ‘‘Theory of Associations,” pp. 257-337. New York, 1920. 

(8) Zimmern, Alfred E. JThe Greek Commonwealth. Politics and 
economics in fifth-century Athens. 2d rev. ed. Oxford, 1915. 

(9) Thomas, William I. Source Book for Social Origins. Ethnological 
materials, psychological standpoint, classified and annotated 
bibliographies for the interpretation of savage society. Part VII, 
“Social Organization, Morals, the State,” pp. 753-869. Chicago, 
1909. [Bibliography.] 


B. Secret Societies 


(1) Simmel, Georg. ‘‘The Sociology of Secrecy and of Secret Societies,”’ 
translated from the German by Albion W. Small, American Journal 
of Sociology, XI (1905-6), 441-08. 

(2) Heckethorn, C. W. The Secret Societies of All Ages and Countries. 
A comprehensive account of upward of one hundred and sixty 
secret organizations—religious, political, and social—from the 
most remote ages down to the present time. New ed., rev. and 
enl., 2 vols. London, 1897. 


730 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(3) Webster, Hutton. Primitive Secret Societies. A study in early 
politics and religion. New York, 1908. 

(4) Schuster, G. Die geheimen Gesellschaften, Verbindungen und Orden. 
2 vols. Leipzig, 1906. 

(s) Boas, Franz. ‘‘The Social Organization and the Secret Societies 
of the Kwakiutl Indians,” U.S. National Museum, Annual Report, 
1895, pp. 311-738. Washington, 1897. 

(6) Frobenius, L. ‘‘Die Masken und Geheimbiinde Afrikas,” 
A bhandlungen der Katserlichen Leopoldinisch-Carolinischen deutschen 
Akademie der Naturforscher, LX XIV, 1-278. 

(7) Pfleiderer, Otto. Primitive Christianity, Its Writings and Teachings 
in Their Historical Connections. Vol. III, chap. i, ‘‘The Thera- 
peutae and the Essenes,” pp. 1-22. ‘Translated from the German 
by W. Montgomery. New York, rogro. 

(8) Jennings, Hargrave. The Rosicrucians, Their Rites and Mysteries. 
3d rev. and enl. ed., 2 vols. London, 1887. 

(9) Stillson, Henry L., and Klein, Henri F. Article on ‘The Masonic 
Fraternity,” The Americana, XVIII, 383-89. [Bibliography.| 

(10) Johnston, R. M. The Napoleonic Empire in Southern Italy and 
the Rise of the Secret Societies. Part Il, “‘The Rise of the Secret 
Societies,” Vol. II, pp. 3-139, 153-55; especially chap. u, “‘Origin 
and Rites of the Carbonari,” Vol. II, pp. 19-44. London, 1904. 
(Bibliography. | 

(11) Fleming, Walter L. Documentary History of Reconstruction. 
Vol. II, chap. xii, ‘The Ku Klux Movement,” pp. 327-77. Cleve- 
land, 1907. 

(12) Lester, J. C., and Wilson, D. L. The Ku Klux Klan. Its origin, 
growth, and disbandment. With appendices containing the 
prescripts of the Ku Klux Klan, specimen orders and warnings. 
With introduction and notes by Walter L. Fleming. New York 
and Washington, 1905. 

(13) Mecklin, John M. The Ku Klux Klan. A study of the American 
mind. New York, 1924. 

(14) La Hodde, Lucien de. The Cradle of Rebellions. A history of the 
secret societies of France. ‘Translated from the French by J. W. 
Phelps. New York, 1864. 

(15) Spadoni, D. Sélte, cospirazioni e cospiratori nello Stato Rasanicss 
all’ indomani della restaurazioni. Torino, 1904. 

(16) ‘Societies, Criminal,” The Americana, XXV, 201-5. 

(17) Clark, T. A. The Fraternity and the College. Being a series of 
papers dealing with fraternity problems. Menasha, Wis., 1915. 


C. Social Types 


(1) Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, F. The Polish Peasant in Europe 
and America. Monograph of an immigrant group. Vol. III, 
“Life Record of an Immigrant.” Boston, 1919. _ [‘‘ Introduction.” 
pp. 5-88, analyzes and interprets three social types: the philistine. 
the bohemian, and the creative.] 

(2) Paulhan, Fr. Les caractéres. Livre II, ‘‘Les types déterminés 
par les tendances sociales,” pp. 143-89. Paris, 1902. 


ACCOMMODATION 731 


(3) Rousiers, Paul de. L’élite dans la société moderne. Paris, 1914. 
(4) Bradford, Gamaliel, Jr. Types of American Character. New 
York, 1895. 
(5) Kellogg, Walter G. The Conscientious Objector. Introduction by 
Newton D. Baker. New York, 1919. 
(6) Hapgood, Hutchins. Types from City Streets. New York, r1o1o. 
(7) Bab, Julius. Die Berliner Bohéme. Berlin, 1905. 
(8) Cory, H. E. The Intellectuals and the Wage Workers. A study 
in educational psychoanalysis. New York, rgro. 
(9) Anderson, Nels. Yhe Hobo. The sociology of the homeless man. 
Chicago, 1923. 
(10) Buchanan, J. R. The Story of a Labor Agitator. New York, 1903. 
(11) Taussig, F. W. Inventors and Money-Mukers. New York, 1915. 
(12) Stoker, Bram. Famous Impostors. WLondon, 1910. 


D. Community Organization 


(1) Galpin, Charles J. ‘Rural Relations of the Village and Small 
City,” University of Wisconsin Bulletin No. 411. 

(2) Rural Life. Chaps. vii-xi, pp. 153-314. New York, 
1918. 

(3) Hayes, A. W. Rural Community Organization. Chicago, 1921. 

(4) Vogt, Paul. Am Introduction to Rural Sociology. New York, 1917. 

(5) Morgan, E. L. “Mobilizing a Rural Community,” Massachusetts 
Agricultural College, Extension Bulletin No. 23. Ambherst, 1918. 

(6) “Rural Organization,” Proceedings of the Third National Country 
Life Conference, Springfield, Massachusetts, 1920. Chicago, 1921. 

(7) Hart, Joseph K. Community Organization. New York, 1920. 

(8) Woods, Robert A., and Kennedy, Albert J. Handbook of Settle- 
ments. New York, tort. 

(9) National Social Unit Organization, Bulletins 1, 2, 2a, 3, 4, 5. 
Cincinnati, 1917-109. 

(10) Devine, Edward T. ‘Social Unit in Cincinnati,” Survey, XLIII 
(1919), 115-26. 

(11) Hicks, Mary L., and Eastman, Rae S. “Block Workers as Devel- 
oped under the Social Unit Experiment in Cincinnati,” Survey, 
XLIV (1920), 671-74. 

(12) Ward, E.J. The Social Center. New York, 1913. [Bibliography.] 

(13) Collier, John. ‘‘Community Councils—Democracy Every Day,” 
Survey, XL (1918), 604-6; 689-9f; 709-11. [Describes com- 
munity defense organizations formed in rural and urban districts 
during the war.] 

(14) Weller, Charles F. “Democratic Community Organization,” An 
after-the-war experiment in Chester, Survey, XLIV (1920), 77-79. 

(15) Rainwater, Clarence E. Community Organization. Sociological 
Monograph No. 15, University of Southern California. Los 
Angeles, 1920. [Bibliography.] 

(16) Lindeman, Eduard C. The Community. An introduction to the 
study of community leadership and organization. New York, 1921. 

(17) Steiner, Jesse F. “Community Organization,’ Journal of Social 
Forces, I (1922-23), 11-18, 102-7, 221-20. 





732 


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II. 


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nce 


Nm FW bv 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Biological Accommodation and Social Accommodation 

. Acclimatization as. Accommodation 

. The Psychology of Accommodation 

. Conversion as a Form of Accommodation: A Study of Mutations of 


Attitudes in Religion, Politics, Morals, Personal Relation, etc. 


. The Psychology and Sociology of Homesickness and Nostalgia 
. Conflict and Accommodation: War and Peace, Enmity and Concilia- 


tion, Rivalry and Status 


. Compromise as a Form of Accommodation 
. The Subtler Forms of Accommodation: Flattery, “Front,” Ceremony, 


etc. 


. The Organization of Attitudes in Accommodation; Prestige, Taboo, 


Rapport, Prejudice, Fear, etc. 

Slavery, Caste, and Class as Forms of Accommodation 

The Description and Analysis of Typical Examples of Accommodation: 
the Political ‘‘Boss” and the Voter, Physician and Patient, the Coach 
and the Members of the Team, the Town Magnate and His Fellow- 
Citizens, ‘“The Four Hundred” and “Hoi Polloi,” etc 

Social Solidarity as the Organization of Competing Groups 

Division of Labor as a Form of Accommodation 

A Survey of Historical Types of the Family in Terms of the Changes in 
Forms of Subordination and Superordination of Its Members 

Social Types as Accommodations: the Quack Doctor, the Reporter, 
the Strike Breaker, the Schoolteacher, the Stockbroker, etc. 


e 4 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. How do you distinguish between biological adaptation and social 


accommodation ? 


. Is domestication biological adaptation or accommodation ? 

. Give illustrations of acclimatization as a form of accommodation. 

. Discuss phenomena of colonization with reference to accommodation. 
. What is the relation of lonesomeness to accommodation ? 

. Do you agree with Nieboer’s definition of slavery ? 


Is the slave a person? If so, to what extent? 
How would you compare the serf with the slave in respect to his status ? 


. To what extent do slavery and caste as forms of accommodation rest 


upon (a) physical force, (b) mental attitudes? 


. What is the psychology of subordination and superordination ? 
. What do you understand to be the relation of suggestion and rapport 


to subordination and superordination P 


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* 
ES 


Io. 
Il. 


123 
133 


14. 
rs 
16. 


1 


18. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 


23, 
24. 


25 
26. 
27: 
28. 
20. 


30. 
roads 


ACCOMMODATION 736 


What is meant by a person “knowing his place” ? 

How do you explain the attitude of ‘‘the old servant”’ to society? 
Do you agree with her in lamenting the change in attitude of persons 
engaged in domestic service? _ 

What types of the subtler forms of accommodation occur to you? 
What arguments would you advance for the proposition that the rela- 
tion of superiority and inferiority is reciprocal ? 

“All leaders are also led, as in countless cases the master is the slave of 
his slaves.” Explain. 

What illustrations, apart from the text, occur to you of reciprocal 
relations in superiority and subordination ? 

What do you understand to be the characteristic differences of the 
three types of superordination and subordination ? 

How would you classify the following groups according to these three 
types: the patriarchal family, the modern family, England from 1650 
to 1830, manufacturing enterprise, labor union, army, boys’ gang, 
boys’ club, Christianity, humanitarian movement ? 

What do you think Simmel means by the term “‘accommodation” ? 
How is accommodation related to peace? 

Does accommodation end struggle ? 

In what sense does commerce imply accommodation P 

What type of interaction is involved i in compromise? What illustra- 
tions would you suggest to bring out your po oint” 

Does compromise make for progress ‘i ; 

Is a compromise better or worse. i or both of the proposals 
involved in it ? ‘ 

What, in your judgment, is the relati - of personal Sa tee to the 
division of labor ? . 
What examples of aa of labor r ou utside the economic field would 
you suggest ? : ; 
What do you understand to be the relation of personal competition 
and group competition? fy 
In what different ways 


















the processes of pers ticion and group competition ? 
To what extent, at the p sent time, is success in life determined by 
personal competiti so al selection by status? 
In what ways do ion of labor make for social solidarity ? 
1 tween social solidarity based upon like- 


What is the 
mindedness 2 on eeerses mindedness ? 


sf 
rs 


f 


: 


CHAPTER XI 


ASSIMILATION 


I. INTRODUCTION 
(I. Popular Conceptions of Assimilation 


The concept assimilation, so far as it has been defined in popular 
usage, gets its meaning from its relation to the problem of immigration. 
The more concrete and familiar terms are the abstract-noun Ameri- 
canization and the verbs Americanize, Anglicize, Germanize, and the 
like. All of these words are intended to ' describe thefprocess by which 
the culture of a community or a country is transmitted to an adopted 
citizen. “2Negatively, assimilation is a process of denationalization~\ 
and this] is, in fact, the form it has taken in Europe. 

The difference between Europe and America, in relation to the 
problem of cultures, is that in Europe difficulties have arisen. from the 
forcible incorporation of minor cultural groups, i.e., nationalities, 
within the limits of a larger political unit, i.e., an empire. he America 
the problem has arisen from the voluntary migration to this country~ 
of peoples who have abandoned the political allegiances of the old 
country and are gradually acquiring the culture of the new. In both 
cases the problem has its source in an effort to establish and maintain 
a political order ina community that has no common culture. Funda- 
mentally the problem of maintaining a democratic form of government 
in a southern village composed of whites and blacks, and the problem 
of maintaining an international order based on anything but force 
are the same. ‘ The ultimate basis of the existing moral and political 
order is still kinship and culture. Where neither exist, a political 
order, not based on caste or class, is At least problematic. 7 

Assimilation, as popularly conceived in the United States, was 
expressed symbolically some years ago in Zangwill’s dramatic parable 
of The Melting Pot. William Jennings Bryan has given oratorical 
expression to the faith in the beneticent outcome of the process: 
“Great has been the Greek, the Latin, che Slav, the Celt, the Teuton, 
and the Saxon; but greater than any of these is the American, 
who combines the virtues of them all.” at 

734 





ASSIMILATION 735 






Assimilation, ; us thus conceived, is a natural and unassisted /' 
process, and pra if not policy, has been in accord with this 
laissez faire cone 1, which the outcome has apparently justified. 
if any rate, the tempo of assimilation has been 


Closely akin to this “magic crucible” notion of assimilation is. 
the _theory~e i‘Gike-mindedness.” This idea was partly a product 
of Professor Giddings’ theory of sociology, partly an outcome of the 
popular notion that similarities and homogeneity are identical with 
unity. The ideal of assimilation was conceived to be that of feeling,’ 2. 
thinking, andl acting alike. Assimilation and socialization have both 

Another and a different notion of assimilation or camera ibn 
is based on the conviction that the immigrant has contributed in the 
past and may be expected in the future to contribute something of —- 
his own in temperament, culture, and philosophy of life to the future 
American civilization. This conception had its origin among the 
immigrants themselves, and has been formulated and interpreted by 
persons who are, like residents in social settlements, in close contact 
with them. This recognition of the diversity in the elements entering 
into the cultural process is not, of course, inconsistent with the 
expectation of an ultimate homogeneity of the product. It has 
called attention, at any rate, to the fact that the process of assimilation 
is concerned with differences quite as much as with likenesses. 


//2 The Sociology of Assimilation 


Accommodation has been described _as.a.process.of.adjustment, 
that is, an organization of social relations and attitudes to prevent 
or to reduce conflict, to control-competition, and to maintain a basis 
of security in the social order for persons and groups of divergent 
interests and types to carry on together their varied life-activities. 
Accommodation in the sense of the composition of conflict is invari- 
oal of the political process. 

: n.is-a-process of. interpenetration and fusion i in which, 
oups acquire the memories, sentiments, and attitu des \ Y 
ns or groups, and, by sharing their experience and 
orporated with them in a common cultural life. In 
ilation denotes this sharing of tradition, This intimate 







736 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


participation in common experiences, assimilation is central in the 
historical and cultural processes. : 





reference to their réle in society, explains_ certain significant formal 
ifferences between the two processes. An accommodation of of a 
conflict, oran-accommodation to a new situation, may take place e with 
rapidity. The more intimate and subtle changes involved in assimi- 
lationare more gradual. The changes that occur in accommodation 
are frequently not only sudden but-revolutionary, as in the mutation 
of attitudes in conversion. The modifications of attitudes in the 
‘process of assimilation are not only gradual, but moderate, even if 
they appear considerable in their accumulation over a long period of 
time. If mutation is the symbol for accommodation,/ growth i is the 
metaphor for assimilation. In_accommodation the person or the — 
group is generally, though not always, highly conscious of the 
occasion, as in the peace treaty that ends the war,\in the arbitra- 
tion of an industrial controversy, in the adjustment of the person 
, to the formal requirements of life in a new social world. (In assimi- 
_ lation the process is typically unconscious; the person is incorporated 
into the common life of the group before he is aware and with little 
conception of the course of events which brought this incorporation 
about. 

James has described the way in which the attitude of the person 
changes toward certain subjects, woman’s suffrage, for example, not 
as the result of conscious reflection, but as the outcome of the unreflec- 
tive responses to a series of new experiences. The intimate asso- 
ciations of the family and of the play group, participation in the 
ceremonies of religious worship and in the celebrations of national 
holidays, all these activities transmit to the immigrant and to the 
alien a store of memories and sentiments common to the native-born, 
and these memories are the basis of all that is peculiar and sacred in 
our cultural life. 

’ As social contact initiates interaction, assimilation is its final 
perfect_product. The nature of the sdcial contacts is decisive in 
/ the process. Assimilation naturally takes place most rapidly where 
contacts are primary, that is, where they are the most intimate and 
intense, as in the area of touch relationship, in the family circle and 
in intimate congenial groups, Secondary contacts alia ec 


as 
. L 2 r 
\ 
\ ad 
\ - - : 
, t 


+ ei ye 





a 


This distinction between accommodation ane assimilation, with ~ 


ASSIMILATION han 


nodations, but do not greatly promote assimilation. The contacts) 
here are external and too remote. 
¢ ~ A common language is indispensable for the most intimate asso- 
ition of the members of the group; its absence is an insurmountable 
| barrier to assimilation. The phenomenvn “that every group has its 
own language,” its: peculiar “universe of discourse,” and its cultural 
‘symbols is evidence of the interrelation between communication and 
assimilation. 

Through the mechanisms of imitation and suggestion, communi- 
cation effects a gradual and unconscious modification of the attitudes 
and sentiments of the members of the group. The unity thus achieved 
is not necessarily or even normally like-mindedness; it is rather a 
unity of experience and of orientation, out of which may develop a 
community of purpose and action. 


pigs nes OE Ge ‘Classification of the Materials 


The selections in the materials on assimilation have been arranged) 
under three heads:/ (a) biological aspects of assimilation; (5) the 
conflict and fusion of,cultures; and (¢) Americanization as a problem 
in assimilation. The ies proceed from an analysis of the nature 
of assimilation to a survey of its processes, as they have manifested 
themselves historically, and finally to a consideration of the problems 
of Americanization. Te 

a) Biological aspects of assimilation.—Assimilation is to be dis- 
tinguished from amalgamation, with which it is, however, closely - 
related. Amalgamation is ; a biological process, the fusion of races by 
interbreeding and intermarriage. Assimilation, on the other hand, 
is limited to the fusion of cultures. Miscegenation, or the mingling 
of races, is a universal phenomenon among the historical races. There 
are no races, in other words, that do not interbreed. Accultura- 
tion, or the transmission of cultural elements from one social group 
to another, however, has invariably taken place on a larger scale and 
over a wider area than miscegenation. 

Amalgamation, while it is limited to the crossing of racial traits » 
through intermarriage, naturally promotes assimilation or the cross-, 
fertilization of social heritages. The offspring of a ‘‘ mixed” marriage 
not only biologically inherits physical and temperamental traits from 


/ 


738 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


both parents, but also acquires in the nurture of family life the atti- 
tudes, sentiments, and memories of both father and mother.) Thus 
amalgamation of races insures the conditions of primary social con- 
tacts most favorable for assimilation. 

<4) The conflict and fusion of cultures ——The survey of the process 
of what the ethnologists call acculturation, as it is exhibited historically 
in the conflicts and fusions of cultures, indicates the wide range of the 
phenomena in this field. 

(1)*Social contact, even when slight or indirect, is sufficient for 
the transmission from one cultural group to another of the material 
elements of civilization. Stimulants and firearms spread rapidly 
upon the objective demenstration of their effects. The potato, a 
native of America, has preceded the white explorer in its penetration 
into many areas of Africa. 

(2). The changes in languages in the course of the contacts, conflicts, 
and fusions of races and nationalities afford data for a more adequate 
description of the process of assimilation. | Under what conditions 
does a ruling group impose its speech upon the masses, or finally 
capitulate to the vulgar tongue of the common people? In modern 
times the printing-press, the book, and the newspaper have tended to 
fix languages. The press has made feasible language revivals in 
connection with national movements on a scale impossible in earlier 
periods. 

( The emphasis placed upon language as a medium of cultural 
transmission rests upon a sound principle.) For the idioms, particu- 
larly of a spoken language, probably reflect more accurately the 
historical experiences of a people than history itself. The basis 
of unity among most historical peoples is linguistic rather than racial. 
The Latin peoples are a convenient example of this fact. The experi- 
ment now in progress in the Philippine Islands is significant in this 
connection. To what extent will the national and cultural develop- 
ment of those islands be determined by native temperament, by 
Spanish speech and tradition, or by the English language and the 
American school system ? 

(3) Rivers in his pao of Melanesian and Hawaiian cultures 
was impressed by the} ‘persistence of fundamental elements of the 
social structure. The basic patterns of family and social life remained 
practically unmodified despite profound transformations in technique, 


ASSIMILATION 739 


in language, and in religion. Evidently many material devices and 
formal expressions of an alien society can be adopted without signifi- 
cant changes in the native culture. 


The question, however, may be raised whether or not the complete - 


adoption of occidental science and organization of industry would 
not produce far-reaching changes in social organization. The trend 
of economic, social, and cultural changes in Japan will throw light on 
this question. Even if revolutionary social changes actually occur, 
the point may well be made that they will be the outcome of the new 
economic system, and therefore not effects of acculturation. 


(4) The rapidity and completeness of assimilation depends_ 


directly upon the intimacy of social conta By a curious paradox, 
slavery, and particularly household slavery; has probably been, aside 
from intermarriage, the most efficient device for promoting assimi- 
lation. 

Adoption and initiation among primitive peoples provided a 
ceremonial method for inducting aliens and strangers into the group, 
the significance of which can only be understood after a more adequate 
ae of ceremonial in general. . 


| Americanization as a problem of assimilation—Any considera-\ 
tioy o 


f policies, programs, and methods of Americanization gain 
perspective when related to the sociology of assimilation. The “Study 
of Methods of Americanrzation,”’ of the Carnegie Corporation, defines 
* Americanization ‘as-“ the participation of the immigrant in the Jife 

of the community in which he lives.” From this standpoint partici- 
pation is both the medium and the goal of assimilation. Partici- 
pation of the immigrant in American life in any area of life prepares 
him for participation in every other. What the immigrant and the 
alien need most is an opportunity for participation. Of first impor- 
tance, of course, is the language. In addition he needs to -— how 
to use our institutions for his own benefit and protection. } / But 
participation, to be real, must be spontaneous and intelligent, and 
that means, in the long run, that the immigrant’s life in America must 
be related to the life he already knows. Not by the suppression of 
old memories, but by their incorporation in his new life is assimilation 
achieved. The failure of conscious, coercive policies of denationali- 
zation in Europe and the great success of the early, passive phase of 
Americanization in this country afford in this connection an impressive 


4a4F 
sa 
% ts 


1 a 
AG 
“ys MS 


740 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


contrast. It follows that Qssimilation cannot be promoted directly, 
but only indirectly, that is ary supplying the conditions that make 
for articipation. 

/ { There is no process but life itself that can effectually wipe out 
the immigrant’s memory of his past. The inclusion of the immigrant 
in our common life may perhaps be best reached, therefore, in co- 
operation that looks not so much to the past as to the future. The 
second generation of the immigrant may share fully in our memories, 
but practically all that we can ask of the foreign-born is participation 
in our ideals, our wishes, and sieaes enterprises. ) 


II. MATERIALS 
A. BIOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF ASSIMILATION 


1. Assimilation and Amalgamation" 


Writers on historical and social science are just beginning to turn 
their attention to the large subject of social assimilation. That the 
subject has untit recently received little attention is readily seen by 
a mere glance at the works of our leading sociologists and historians. 
The word itself rarely appears; and when the theme is touched upon, 
no clearly defined, stable idea seems to exist, even in the mind of the 
author. ‘Thus Giddings at one time identifies assimilation with 
“reciprocal accommodation.” In another place he defines it as “‘the 
process of growing alike,” and once again he tells us it is the method 
by which foreigners in the United States society become Americans. 
Nor are M: Novicow’s ideas on the subject perfectly lucid, for he 
considers assimilation sometimes as a process, at other times as an 
art, and again as a result. He makes the term ‘“‘denationalization”’ 
coextensive with our “‘assimilation,”’ and says that the ensemble of 
measures which a government takes for inducing a population to 
abandon one type of culture for another is denationalization. Dena- 
tionalization by the authority of the state carries with it a certain 
amount of coercion; it is always accompanied by a measure of 
violence. In the next sentence, however, we are told that the word 
“‘denationalization”’ may also be used for the non-coercive process 


” 


t Adapted from Sarah E. Simons, “Social: Assimilation, 
Journal of Sociology, VI (1901), 790-801. 


in the American 


& 


ASSIMILATION 741 


by which one nationality is assimilated with another. M. Novicow 
further speaks of the art of assimilation, and he tells us that the 
result of the intellectual struggle between races living under the same 
government, whether free or forced, is in every case assimilation. 
Burgess also takes a narrow view of the subject, restricting the opera- 
tion of assimilating forces to the present and considering assimilation 
a result of modern political union. He says: ‘In modern times the 
political union of different races under the leadership of the dominant 
race results in assimilation.” : 

From one point of view assimilation is a process with its active 
and passive elements; from another it isa result. In this discussion, 
however, assimilation is considered as a process due to prolonged 
contact. It may, perhaps, be defined as that process of adjustment 
or accommodation which occurs between the members of two differ- 
ent races, if thefr contact is prolonged and if the necessary psychic 
conditions are present. ‘The result is group homogeneity to a greater 
or less degree. Figuratively speaking, it is the process by which the 
aggregation of peoples is changed from a mere mechanical mixture 
into a chemical compound. 

The process of assimilation is of a psychological rather than of 
a biological nature, and refers to the growing alike in character, 
thoughts, and institutions, rather than to the blood-mingling brought 
about by intermarriage. ‘The intellectual results of the process of 
assimilation are far more lasting than the physiological. Thus in 
France today, though nineteen-twentieths of the blood is that of the 
aboriginal races, the language is directly derived from that imposed 
by the Romans in their conquest of Gaul. Intermarriage, the 
inevitable result to a greater or less extent of race contact, plays its 
part in the process of assimilation, but mere mixture of races will not 
cause assimilation. Moreover, assimilation is possible, partially at 
least, without intermarriage. Instances of this are furnished by the 
partial assimilation of the Negro and the Indian of the United States. 
Thinkers are beginning to doubt the great importance once attributed . 
to intermarriage as a factor in civilization. |Says Mayo-Smith\, 
“Tt is not in unity of blood but in unity of institutions and social \ 
habits and ideals that we are to seek that which we call nationality,” , 
and nationality is the result of assimilation. 


742 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


2. The Instinctive Basis of Assimilation! . 


It is a striking fact that among animals there are some whose 
conduct can be generalized very readily in the categories of self- 
preservation, nutrition, and sex, while there are others whose conduct 
cannot be thus summarized. ‘The behavior of the tiger and the cat 
is simple and easily comprehensible, whereas that of the dog with 
his conscience, his humor, his terror of loneliness, his capacity for 
devotion to a brutal master, or that of the bee with her selfless devotion 
to the hive, furnishes phenomena which no sophistry can assimilate 
without the aid of a fourth instinct. But little examination will 
show that the animals whose conduct it is difficult to generalize under 
the three primitive instinctive categories are gregarious. If, then, 
it can be shown that gregariousness is of a biological significance 
approaching in importance that of the other instincts we may expect 


to find in it the source of these anomalies of conduct, and of the 


complexity of human behavior. 

Gregariousness seems frequently to be regarded as a somewhat 
superficial character, scarcély deserving, as it were, the name of an 
instinct, advantageous, it is true, but not of fundamental importance 
or likely to be deeply ingrained in the inheritance of the species. 
This attitude may be due to the fact that among mammals, at any 
rate, the appearance of gregariousness has not been accompanied by 
any very gross physical changes which are obviously associated with it. 

To whatever it may be due, this method of regarding the social 
habit is, in the opinion of the present writer, not justified by the facts, 
and prevents the attainment of conclusions of considerable fruitfulness. 

A study of bees and ants shows at once how fundamental the 
importance of gregariousness may become. ‘The individual in such 
communities is completely incapable, often physically, of existing 
apart from the community, and this fact at once gives rise to the 
suspicion that, even in communities less closely knit than those of 
the ant and the bee, the individual may in fact be more dependent 
on communal life than appears at first sight. 

Another very striking piece of general evidence of the significance 
of gregariousness as no mere late acquirement is the remarkable 
coincidence of its occurrence with that of exceptional grades of intelli- 


t Adapted from W. Trotter, “Herd Instinct,” in the Sociological Review, I 
(1908), 231-42. 


a 


ASSIMILATION 7143 


gence or the possibility of very complex reactions to environment. 
It can scarcely be regarded as an unmeaning accident that the dog, 
the horse, the ape, the elephant, and man are all social animals. 
The instances of the bee and the ant are perhaps the most amazing. 
Here the advantages of gregariousness seem actually to outweigh 
the most prodigious differences of structure, and we find a condition 
which is often thought of as a mere habit, capable of enabling the 
insect nervous system to compete in the complexity of its power 
of adaptation with that of the higher vertebrates. 

From the biological standpoint the probability of gregariousness 
being a primitive and fundamental quality in man seems to be con- 
siderable. It would appear to have the effect of enlarging the advan- 
tages of variation. Varieties not immediately favorable, varieties 
departing widely from the standard, varieties even unfavorable to 
the individual, may be supposed to be given by it a chance of survival. 
Now the course of the development of man seems to present many 
features incompatible with its having proceeded among isolated 
individuals exposed to the unmodified action of natural selection. 
Changes so serious as the assumption of the upright posture, the 
reduction in the jaw and its musculature, the reduction in the acuity 
of smell and hearing, demand, if the species is to survive, either a 
delicacy of adjustment with the compensatingly developing intelli- 
gence so minute as to be almost inconceivable, or the existence of 
some kind of protective enclosure, however imperfect, in which the 
varying individuals may be sheltered from the direct influence of 
natural selection. The existence of such a mechanism would com- 
pensate losses of physical strength in the individual by the greatly 
increased strength of the larger unit, of the unit, that is to say, upon 
which natural selection still acts unmodified. 

The cardinal quality of the herd is homogeneity. It is clear 
that the great advantage of the social habit is to enable large numbers 
to act as one, whereby in the case of the hunting gregarious animal 
strength in pursuit and attack is at once increased beyond that of the 
creatures preyed upon, and in protective socialism the sensitiveness 
of the new unit to alarms is greatly in excess of that of the individual 
member of the flock. 

To secure these advantages of homogeneity, it is evident that the 
members of the herd must possess sensitiveness to the behavior of 


744 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


their fellows. The individual isolated will be of no meaning; the 
individual as part of the herd will be capable of transmitting the most 
potent impulses. Each member of the flock tending to follow his 
neighbor, and in turn to be followed, each is in some sense capable 
of leadership; but no lead will be followed that departs widely from 
normal behavior. A lead will only be followed from its resemblance 
to the normal. If the leader go so far ahead as definitely to cease 
to be in the herd, he will necessarily be ignored. 

The original in conduct, that is to say, resistiveness to the voice 
of the herd, will be suppressed by natural selection; the wolf which 
does not follow the impulses of the herd will be starved; the sheep 
which does not respond to the flock will be eaten. 

Again, not only will the individual be responsive to impulses com- 
ing from the herd but he will treat the herd as his normal environment. 
The impulse to be in and always to remain with the herd will have the 
strongest instinctive weight. Anything which tends to separate him 
from his fellows, as soon as it becomes perceptible as sach, will be 
strongly resisted. 

So far we have regarded the gregarious animal objectively. Let 
us now try to estimate the mental aspects of these impulses. Sup- 
pose a species in possession of precisely the instinctive endowments 
which we have been considering to be also self-conscious, and let us 
ask what will be the forms under which these phenomena will present 
themselves in its mind. In the first place, it is quite evident that 
impulses derived from herd feeling will enter the mind with the value 
of instincts— they will present themselves as “‘a priori syntheses of the 
most perfect sort needing no proof but their own evidence.” They 
will not, however, it is important to remember, necessarily always give 
this quality to the same specific acts, but will show this great dis- 
tinguishing characteristic that they may give to any opinion whatever 
the characters of instinctive belief, making it into an “‘a priori syn- 
thesis”; so that we shall expect to find acts which it would be absurd 
to look upon as the results of specific instincts carried out with all 
the enthusiasm of instinct and displaying all the marks of instinctive 
behavior. 

In interpreting into mental terms the consequences of gregarious- 
ness we may conveniently begin with the simplest. The ‘eemscious 
individual will feel an unanalysable primary sense of comfort in the 


ASSIMILATION 745 


actual presence of his fellows and a similar sense of discomfort in their 
absence. It will be obvious truth to him that it is not good for man 
to be alone. Loneliness will be a real terror insurmountable by reason. 

Again, certain conditions will become secondarily associated with 
presence with, or absence from, the herd. For example, take the 
sensations of heat and cold. The latter is prevented in gregarious 
animals by close crowding and experienced in the reverse condition; 
hence it comes to be connected in the mind with separation and so 
acquires altogether unreasonable associations of harmfulness. Simi- 
larly, the sensation of warmth is associated with feelings of the secure 
and salutary. : 

Slightly more complex manifestations of the same tendency to 
homogeneity are seen in the desire for identification with the herd in 
matters of opinion. Here we find the biological explanation of the 
ineradicable impulse mankind has always displayed toward segrega- 
tion into classes. Each one of us in his opinions, and his conduct, in 
matters of dré&s, amusement, religion, and politics, is compelled to 
obtain the support of a class, of a herd within the herd. The most 
eccentric in opinion or conduct is, we may be sure, supported by the 
agreement of a class, the smallness of which accounts for his apparent 
eccentricity, and the preciousness of which accounts for his fortitude 
in defying general opinion. Again, anything which tends to emphasize 
difference from the herd is unpleasant. In the individual mind there 
will be an analysable dislike of the novel in action or thought. It 
will be “wrong,” “wicked,” “foolish,” “undesirable,” or, as we say, 
“bad form,” according to varying circumstances which we can already 
to some extent define. | 

Manifestations relatively more simple are shown in the dislike of 
being conspicuous, in shyness, and in stage fright. It is, however, 
sensitiveness to the behavior of the herd which has the most important 
effects upon the structure of the mind of the gregarious animal. This 
sensitiveness is, as Sidis has clearly seen, closely associated with the 
suggestibility of the gregarious animal, and therefore with that of man. 
The effect of it will clearly be to make acceptable those suggestions 
-which come from the herd, and those only. It is of especial impor- 
tance to note that this suggestibility is not general, and that it is only 
herd su; tions which are rendered acceptable by the action of 
instinct. 


o° he 


746 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


B. THE CONFLICT AND FUSION OF CULTURES 
1. The Analysis of Blended Cultures' 


In the analysis of any culture, a difficulty which soon meets the 
investigator is that he has to determine what is due to mere contact 
and what is due to intimate intermixture, such intermixture, for 
instance, as is produced by the permanent blending of one people 
with another, either through warlike invasion or peaceful settlement. 
The fundamental weakness of most of the attempts hitherto made to 
analyze existing cultures is that they have had their starting-point 
in the study of material objects, and the reason for this is obvious. 
Owing to the fact that material objects can be collected by anyone © 
and subjected at leisure to prolonged study by experts, our knowledge 
of the distribution of material objects and of the technique of their 
manufacture has very far outrun that of the less material elements. 
What I wish now to point out is that in distinguishing between the 
effects of mere contact and the intermixture of peeples, material 
objects are the least trustworthy of all the constituents of culture. 
Thus in Melanesia we have the clearest evidence that material objects 
and processes can spread by mere contact, without any true admixture 
of peoples and without influence on other features of the culture. 
While the distribution of material objects is of the utmost importance 
in suggesting at the outset community of culture, and while it is of 
equal importance in the final process of determining points of contact 
and in filling in the details of the mixture of cultures, it is the least 


‘satisfactory guide to the actual blending of peoples which must form 


the solid foundation of the ethnological analysis of culture. The case 
for the value of magico-religious institutions is not much stronger. 
Here, again, in Melanesia there is little doubt that whole cults can 
pass from one people to another without any real intermixture of 
peoples. I do not wish to imply that such religious institutions can 
pass from people to people with the ease of material objects, but 
to point out that there is evidence that they can and do so pass with 
very little, if any, admixture of peoples or of the deeper and more 
fundamental elements of the culture. Much more important is 
language; and if you will think over the actual conditions when one 


t From W. H. R. Rivers, ‘‘The Ethnological Analysis of Culture,” in Nature, 
LXXXVII (1911), 358-60. 


ASSIMILATION 747 


people either visit or settle among another, this greater importance 
will be obvious. Let us imagine a party of Melanesians visiting a 
Pelynesian island, staying there for a few weeks, and then returning 
home ‘and here I am not taking a fictitious occurrence, but one which 
really happens). We can readily understand that the visitors may 
take with them their betel-mixture, and thereby introduce the custom 
of betel-chewing into a new home; we can readily understand that 
they may introduce an ornament to be worn in the nose and another 
to be worn on the chest; that tales which they tell will be remembered, 
and dances they perform will be imitated. A few Melanesian werds 
may pass into the language of the Polynesian island, especially as 
names for the objects or processes which the strangers have intro- 
duced; but it is incredible that the strangers should thus in a short 
visit produce any extensive change in the vocabulary, and still mere 
that they should modify the structure of the language. Such changes 
can never be the result of mere contact or transient settlement but 
must always indicate a far more deeply seated and fundamental 
process of blending of peoples and cultures. 

Few will perhaps hesitate to accept this position; but I expect 
my next proposition to meet with more skepticism, and yet I believe 
it to be widely, though not universally, true. This proposition is 
that the social structure, the framework of society, is still more funda- 
mentally important and still less easily changed except as the result 
of the intimate blending of peoples, and for that reason furnishes by 
far the firmest foundation on which to base the process of analysis 
of culture. I cannot hope to establish the truth of this proposition in 
the course of a brief address, and I propose to draw your attention 
to one line of evidence only. 

At the present moment we have before our eyes an object-lesson 
in the spread of our own people over the earth’s surface, and we are 
thus able to study how external influence affects different elements 
of culture. What we find is that mere contact is able to transmit 
much in the way of material culture. A passing vessel, which does 

not even anchor, may be able to transmit iron, while Muropean 
' weapons may be used by people who have never even seen a white 
man. Again, missionaries introduce the Christian religion among 
people who cannot speak a word of English or any language but their 
own or only use such European words as have been found necessary 


748 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


to express ideas or objects connected with the new religion. ‘There 
is evidence how readily language may be affected, and here again 
the present day suggests a mechanism by which such a change tales 
place. English is now becoming the language of the Pacific and of 
other parts of the world through its use as a lingua franca, which 
enables natives who speak different languages to converse not only 
with Europeans but with one another, and I believe that this has 
often been the mechanism in the past; that, for instance, the intro- 
duction of what we now call the Melanesian structure of language 
wa due to the fact that the language of an immigrant people who 
settled in a region of great linguistic diversity came to be used as a 
lingua franca, and thus gradually became the basis of the languages 
of the whole people. 

* But now let us turn to social structure. We find in Oceania 
islands where Europeans have been settled as missionaries or traders 
perhaps for fifty or a hundred years; we find the people wearing 
European clothes and European ornaments, using European utensils 
and even European weapons when they fight; we find them holding 
the beliefs and practicing the ritual of a European religion; we find 
them speaking a European language, often even among themselves, 
and yet investigation shows that much of their social structure 
remains thoroughly native and uninfluenced, not only in its general 
form, but often even in its minute details. The external influence 
has swept away the whole material culture, so that objects of native 
origin are manufactured only to sell to tourists; it has substituted a 
wholly new religion and destroyed every material, if not every moral, 
vestige of the old; it has caused great modification and degeneration 
of the old language; and yet it may have left the social structure in 
the main untouched. And the reasons for this are clear.\\Most of 
the essential social structure of a people lies so below the surface, it 
‘is so literally the foundation of the whole life of the people, that it is 
not seen; it is not obvious, but can only be reached by patient and 
laborious exploration. I will give a few specific instances. In several 
islands of the Pacific, some of which have had European settlers on 
them for more than a century, a most important position in the com- 
munity is occupied by the father’s sister. If any native of these 
islands were asked who is the most important person in the determi- 
nation of his life-history, he would answer, ‘‘My father’s sister”’; 


ASSIMILATION 740 


and yet the place of this relative in the social structure has remained 
absolutely unrecorded, and, I believe, absolutely unknown, to the 
Etropean settlers in those islands. Again, Europeans have settled 
in Fiji for more than a century, and yet it is only during this summer 
that I have heard from Mr. A. M. Hocart, who is working there at 
present, that there is the clearest evidence of what is known as the 
dual organization of society as a working social institution at the 
present time. How unobtrusive such a fundamental fact of social 
structure may be comes home to me in this case very strongly, for it 
wholly eluded my own observation during a visit three years ago. 

Lastly, the most striking example of the permanence of social 
structure which I have met is in the Hawaiian Islands. ‘There the 
original native culture is reduced to the merest wreckage. So far as 
material objects are concerned, the people are like ourselves; the 
old religion has gone; though there probably still persists some of 
the ancient magic. The people themselves have so dwindled in 
number, and the political conditions are so altered, that the social 
structure has also necessarily been greatly modified, and yet I was 
able to ascertain that one of its elements, an element which I believe 
to form the deepest layer of the foundation,/the very bedrock of 
social structure, the system of relationship, is still in use unchanged. 
I was able to obtain a full account of the system as actually used at 
the present time, and found it to be exactly the same as that recorded 
forty years ago by Morgan and Hyde, and I obtained evidence that 
the system is still deeply interwoven with the intimate mental life 
of the people. : 

If, then, social structure has this fundamental and deeply seated 
character, if it is the least easily changed, and only changed as the 
result either of actual blending 6f peoples or of the most profound 
political changes, the obvious inference is that it is with social struc- 
ture that we must begin the attempt to analyze culture and to ascer- 
tain how far community of culture is due to the blending of peoples, 
how far to transmission through mere contact or transient settlement. 

The considerations I have brought forward have, however, in 
my opinion an importance still more fundamental. If social institu- 
tions have this relatively great degree of permanence, if they are so 
deeply seated and so closely interwoven with the deepest instincts 
and sentiments of a people that they can only gradually suffer change, 





750 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


will not the study of this change give us our surest criterion of what 
is early and what is late in any given culture, and thereby furnish a 
guide for the analysis of culture? Such criteria of early and late 
are necessary if we are to arrange the cultural elements reached by 
our analysis in order of time, and it is very doubtful whether mere 
geographical distribution itself will ever furnish a sufficient basis for 
this purpose. I may remind you here that before the importance 
of the complexity of Melanesian culture had forced itself on my 
mind, I had already succeeded in tracing out a course for the develop- 
ment of the structure of Melanesian society, and after the complexity 
of the culture had been established, I did not find it necessary to alter 
anything of essential importance in this scheme. I suggest, there- 
fore, that while the ethnological analysis of cultures must furnish a 
necessary preliminary to any general evolutionary speculations, there 
is one element of culture which has so relatively high a degree of 
permanence that its course of development may furnish a guide to 
the order in time of the different elements into which it is possible 
to analyze a given complex. 

If the development of social structure is thus to be taken as a 
guide to assist the process of analysis, it is evident that there will be 
involved a logical process of considerable complexity in which there 
will be the danger of arguing in a circle. If, however, the analysis 
of culture is to be the primary task of the anthropologist, it is evident 
that the logical methods of the science will attain a complexity far 
exceeding those hitherto in vogue. I believe that the only logical 
process which will in general be found possible will be the formulation 
of hypothetical working schemes into which the facts can be fitted, 
and that the test of such schemes will be their capacity to fit in with 
themselves, or, as we generally express it, ‘‘explain” new facts as 
they come to our knowledge. This is the method of other sciences 
which deal with conditions as complex as those of human society. 
In many other sciences these new facts are discovered by experi- 
ment. In our science they must be found by exploration, not only 
of the cultures still existent in living form, but also of the buried 
cultures of past ages. 





ASSIMILATION 7ST 


2. The Extension of Roman Culture in Gault 


The Roman conquest of Gaul was partially a feat of arms; but 
it was much more a triumph of Roman diplomacy and a genius for 


colonial government. Roman power in Gaul was centered in the. 


larger cities and in their strongly fortified camps. ‘There the laws 
and decrees of Rome were promulgated and the tribute of the con- 
quered tribes received. ‘There, too, the law courts were held and 
justice administered. Rome bent her efforts to the Latinizing of 
her newly acquired possessions. Gradually she forced the inhabit- 
ants of the larger cities to use the Latin tongue. But this forcing 
was done in a diplomatic, though effective, manner. Even in the days 
of Caesar, Latin was made the only medium for the administration of 
the law, the promulgation of decrees, the exercise of the functions 
of government, the administration of justice, and the performing of 
the offices of religion. It was the only medium of commerce and 
trade with the Romans, of literature and art, of the theater and 
of social relations. Above all, it was the only road to office under 
the Roman government and to political preferment. The Roman 
officials in Gaul encouraged and rewarded the mastery of the Latin 
tongue and the acquirement of Roman culture, customs, and manners. 
Thanks to this well-defined policy of the Roman government, native 
Gauls were found in important offices even in Caesar’s time. The 
number of these Gallo-Roman offices increased rapidly, and their 
influence was steadily exercised in favor of the acquirement, by the 
natives, of the Latin language. A greater inducement still was held 
out to the Gauls to acquire the. ways and culture of their conquerors. 
This was the prospect of employment or political preference and 
honors in the imperial city of Rome itself. Under this pressure so 
diplomatically applied, the study of the Latin language, grammar, 
literature, and oratory became a passion throughout the cities of 
Gaul, which were full of Roman merchants, traders, teachers, philoso- 
phers, lawyers, artists, sculptors, and seekers for political and other 
offices. Latin was the symbol of success in every avenue of life. 
Native Gauls became noted merchant princes, Jawvers, soldiers, 
local potentates at home, and favorites of powerful political per- 
sonages in Rome and even in the colonies outside Gaul. Natives of 


From John H. Cornyn, “French Language,” in the Encyclopedia Americana, 
XI (1919), 646-47. : 


fe 


752 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Gaul, too, reached the highest offices in the ,land, becoming even 
members of the Senate; and later on a native Gaul became one 
of the most noted of the Roman emperors. The political policy of 
Rome made the imposition of the Latin language upon the cities of 
Gaul a comparatively easy matter, requiring only time to assure its 
accomplishment. Everywhere throughout the populous cities of 
Gaul there sprang up schools that rivaled, in their efficacy and 
reputation, the most famous institutions of Rome. Rich Romans 
sent their sons to these schools because of their excellence and the 
added advantage that they could acquire there a first-hand knowledge 
of the life and customs of the natives, whom they might be called 
upon in the future to govern or to have political or other relations 
with. Thus all urban Gaul traveled Rome-ward—“‘all roads led to 
Rome.” 

The influence of Roman culture extended itself much more slowly 
over the rural districts,/ the inhabitants of which, in addition to 
being much more conservative and passionately attached to their 
native institutions and language, lacked the incentive of ambition 
and of commercial and trade necessity. A powerful Druidical 
priesthood held the rural Celts together and set their faces against 
Roman culture and religion. But even in the rural districts Latin 
made its way slowly and in a mangled form, yet none the less surely. 
This was accomplished almost entirely through the natural pressure 
from without exercised by the growing power of the Latin tongue, 
which had greatly increased during the reign of the Emperor Claudius 
(41-54 A.D.). Claudius, who was born in Lyon and educated in 
Gaul, opened to the Gauls all the employments and dignities of the 
empire. On the construction of the many extensive public works 
he employed many inhabitants of Gaul in positions requiring faith- 
fulness, honesty, and skill. These, in their turn, frequently drew 
laborers from the rural districts of Gaul. These latter, during their 
residence in Rome or other Italian cities, or in the populous centers 
of Gaul, acquired some knowledge of Latin. ‘Thus, in time, through 
these and other agencies, a sort of lingua franca sprang up throughout 
the rural districts of Gaul and served as a.medium of communication 
between the Celtic-speaking population and the inhabitants of the 
cities and towns. ‘This consisted of a frame of Latin words stripped 
of most of their inflections and subjected to word-contractions and 


ASSIMILATION 753 


other modifications. Into this frame were fitted many native words 
which had already become the property of trade and commerce and 
the other activities of life in the city, town, and country. Thus, as 
the influence of Latin became stronger in the cities, it continued to 
exercise greater pressure on the rural districts. ‘This pressure soon 
began to react upon the centers of Latin culture. The uneducated 
classes of Gaul everywhere, even in the cities, spoke very imperfect 
Latin, the genius of which is so different from that of the native 
tongues of Gaul. But while the cities afforded some correction for 
this universal tendency among the masses to corrupt the Latin 
language, the life of the rural districts, where the native tongues 
were still universally spoken, made the disintegration of the highly 
inflected Roman speech unavoidable. As the masses in the city and 
country became more Latinized, at the expense of their native 
tongues, the corrupted Latin spoken over immense districts of the 
country tended to pass current as the speech of.the populace and to 
crowd out classical or school Latin.. As this corrupted local Latin 
varied greatly in different parts of the country, due to linguistic and 
other influences, there resulted numerous Roman dialects throughout 
Gaul, many of which are still in existence. 

The introduction of Christianity gave additional impulse to the 
study of Latin, which soon became the official language of the Chris- 
tian church; and it was taught everywhere by the priests to the 
middle and upper classes, and they also encouraged the masses to 
learn it. It seemed as if this was destined to maintain the prestige 
of Latin as the official language of the country. But in reality it 
hastened its downfall by making it more and more the language of 
the illiterate masses. Soon the rural districts furnished priests who 
spoke their own Roman tongue; and the struggle to rehabilitate the 
literary Latin among the masses was abandoned. The numerous 
French dialects of Latin had already begun to assume shape when 
the decline of the Roman Empire brought the Germanic tribes down 
upon Gaul and introduced a new element into the Romanic speech, 
which had already worked its will upon the tongue of the Caesars. 
’ Under its influence the loose Latin construction disappeared; articles 
and prepositions took the place of the inflectional terminations 
brought to a high state of artificial perfection in Latin; and the 
wholesale suppression of unaccented syllables had so contracted the 


754 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Latin words that they were often scarcely recognizable. The modi- 
fication of vowel sounds increased the efficacy of the disguise assumed 
by Latin words masquerading in the Romanic dialects throughout 
Gaul; and the Celtic and other native words in current use to desig- 
nate the interests and occupations of the masses helped to differ- 
entiate the popular speech from the classical Latin. Already Celtic, 
as a spoken tongue, had almost entirely disappeared from the cities; 
and even in the rural districts it had fallen into a certain amount of 
neglect, as the lingua franca of the first centuries of Roman occupa- 
tion, reaching out in every direction, became the ever-increasing 
popular speech. 


3. The Competition of the Cultural Languages! 


Some time ago a typewriter firm, in advertising a machine with 
Arabic characters, made the statement that the Arabic alphabet 
is used by more people than any other. A professor of Semitic 
ianguages was asked: “How big a lie is that?” He answered: “It 
is true.” 

In a certain sense, it is true; the total population of all the 
countries whose inhabitants use the Arabic alphabet (if they use any) 
is slightly larger than that of those who use the Latin alphabet and 
its slight variations, or the Chinese characters (which of course are 
not an alphabet), or the Russian alphabet. If, however, the question 
is how many people can actually use any alphabet or system of 
writing, the Arabic stands lowest of the four. 

The question of the relative importance of a language as a literary 
medium is a question of how many people want to read it. There 
are two classes of these: those to whom it is vernacular, and those 
who learn it in addition to their own language. ' The latter class is 
of the greater importance in proportion to its numbers; a man who 
has education enough to acquire a foreign language is pretty sure to 
use it, while many of the former class, who can read, reaily do read 
very little. ‘Those who count in this matter are those who can get 


information from a printed page as easily as by listening to someone . 


talking. A fair index of the relative number of these in a country is 
the newspaper circulation there. 


t Adapted from E. H. Babbitt, “‘The Geography of the Great Languages,” 
in World’s Work, XV (1907-8), 9903-7. 





| 





ASSIMILATION 755 


A language must have a recognized literary standard and all the\ 
people in its territory must learn to use it as such before its influence’ 
goes far abroad. English, French, and German, and they alone, 
have reached this point. French and German have no new country, 
and practically the whole of their country is now literate; their 
telative share in the world’s reading can only increase as their popu- 
lation increases. Spanish and Russian, on the other band, have 
both new country and room for a much higher percentage of literacy. 

It is probable that all the countries in temperate zones will have 
universal literacy by the end of the century. In this case, even if 
no one read English outside its vernacular countries, it would still 
hold its own as the leading literary language. German and French 
are bound to fall off relatively as vernaculars, and this implies a 
falling off of their importance as culture languages; but the importance 
of Finglish in this respect is bound to grow. The first place among 
foreign languages has been given to it in the schools of many European 
and South American countries; Mexico and Japan make it compul- 
sory in all schools of upper grades; and China is to follow Japan in 
this respect as soon as the work can be organized. 

The number of people who can actually read, or will learn if 
now too young, for the various languages of the world appears to be 
as follows: 








Number 

in Millions Per Cent 
Pee Pes ee, a E36 27.2 

Gomiermm Per Site.) OUR FOB 1604. 
Chineset eee Unie)... fs Ory GO 14.0 
GRC wa ww me 28 9.6 
At! a, 30 6.0 
eS ee, TS 5.0 
lees >? oc. ll. lf ee, TS 4.6 
Specs eh i ee: iain eg 2.6 
Se ar ih 2.2 
Dtitenmeecremisns 05... Re, 9 1.9 
Mingememmepeant (ite! oe)... RR gg 6.8 
Minor Asiaticf . . . See! 26 3.2 
Minor African and Ralyhestant eee, 62 0.5 
Tees... ll. Me  473-+ 100.0 


* Not a spoken language, but a system of writing. 
t None representing as much as 1 per cent of total. 


756 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


English, therefore, now leads all other languages in the number. 


of its readers. Three-fourths of the world’s mail matter is addressed 
in English. More than half of the world’s newspapers are printed 
in English, and, as they have a larger circulation than those in other 
languages, probably three-fourths of the world’s newspaper reading 
is-done in English. 

The languages next in importance, French and German, cannot 
maintain their relative positions because English has more than half 
of the new land in the temperate zone and they have none. The 
languages which have the rest of the new territory, Spanish and 
Russian, are not established as culture languages, as English is. No 
other language, not even French or German, has a vernacular so 
uniform and well established, and with so few variations from the 
literary language. English is spoken in the United States by more 
than fifty million people with so slight variations that no foreigner 
would ever notice them. No other language whatever can show 
more than a fraction of this number of persons who speak so nearly 
alike. 

It is then probable that, within the century, English will be the 
vernacular of a quarter instead of a tenth of the people of the world, 
and be read by a half instead of a quarter of the people who can 
read, 


4. The Assimilation of Races' 


The race problem has sometimes been described as a problem in 
assimilation. It is not always clear, however, what assimilation 
means. Historically the word has had two distinct significations. 
According to earlier usage it meant “to compare’ or “to make like.” 
According to later usage it signifies ‘‘to take up and incorporate.” 

There is a process that goes on in society by which individuals 
spontaneously acquire one another’s language, characteristic atti- 
tudes, habits, and modes of behavior. There is also a process by 
which individuals and groups of individuals are taken over and 
incorporated into larger groups. Both processes have been con- 
cerned in the formation of modern nationalities. The modern 
Italian, Frenchman, and German is a composite of the broken frag- 


From Robert E. Park, ‘‘Racial Assimilation in Secondary Groups,” in the 
Publications of the American Sociological Society, VIII (1914), 66-72. 





. 
7 
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4 
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eee ho 


ee OE eee 


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ee 


ASSIMILATION 757 







ational types which exhibit definite uniformities in language, 

vers, and formal behavior. 

I ha s sometimes been assumed that the creation of a national type 

the specific function of assimilation and that national solidarity 

bagedupon national homogeneity and “like-mindedness.”’ The 
extgnt_and importance of the Kind of homogeneity that individuals 


- Bhi cither interbreeding nor interaction has created, in what the reach 
term“‘nationals,” a more than superficial likeness or like-mindedness. 
Racial differences have, to be sure, disappeared or been obscured, but 
individual differences remain. Individual’ differences, again, have _ 
been_intensified byedueation, personal competition, and the division 
of labor,|until individual members of cosmopolitan groups probably 
represent greater variations in disposition, temperament, and mental) 
capacity than those which distinguished the more homogeneous races 
and peoples of an earlier civilization. 

What then, precisely, is the nature of the homogeneity which 
characterizes cosmopolitan groups ? 

The growth of modern states exhibits the progressive merging of 
smaller, mutually exclusive, into larger and more inclusive, social 
groups. ‘This result has been achieved in various ways, but it has 
usually been followed or accompanied by a more or less complete 
adoption by the members of the smaller groups of the language, 
technique, and morés of the larger and more inclusive ones. The 
immigrant readily takes over the language, manners, the social ritual, 
and outward forms of his adopted country. In America it has 
become proverbial that a Pole, Lithuanian, or Norwegian cannot be 
distinguished, in the second generation, from an American born of 
native parents. 

There is no reason to assume that this assimilation of alien groups 
to native standards has modified to any great extent fundamental 
racial characteristics. It has, however, erased the external signs 

- which formerly distinguished the members of one race from those 0 
another. 

On the other hand, the breaking up of the isolation °” 
en has had the effect of emancipating the individua! 


758 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


him room and freedom for i expansion and development of his 
individual aptitudes. ; 

What one actually finds in cosmopolitan groups, then, is a _stiper- 
ficial uniformity, a homogeneity in manners and fashion, associated 


with relatively profound differences in individual opinions, senti- 
ments, and beliefs. This is just the reverse of what one meets among 


primitive peoples, where diversity in external forms, as between 
different groups, is accompanied by a monotonous sameness in the 
mental attitudes of individuals. There is a striking similarity in the 
sentiments and mental attitudes of peasant peopies in all parts of 
the world, although the external differences are often great. In the 
Black Forest, in Baden, Germany, almost every valley shows a differ- 
ent style of costume, a different type of architecture, although in 
each separate valley every house is like every other and the costume, 
as well as the religion, is for every member of each separate com- 
munity absolutely after the same pattern. On the other hand, a 
German, Russian, or Negro peasant of the southern states, different 
as each is in some respects, are all very much alike in certain habitual 
attitudes and sentiments. 

What, then, is the rdle of homogeneity and like-mindedness, such 
as we find them to be, in cosmopolitan states? So far as it. makes 
each individual look like every other—no matter how different under 
the skin—homogeneity. mobilizes the individual man. It removes the 
social taboo, permits the individual to move into strange groups, 


\* and thus facilitates new and adventurous contacts. In obliterating 


the external signs, which in secondary groups.seem to be the sole 
basis of caste and class distinctions, it realizes, for the individual, 
the principle of laissez faire, laissez aller, “Its ultimate economic-effect 
is to substitute»personal for racial competition, and to give free play 
to forces that tend to relegate every individual, irrespective of race 
or status, to the position he or she is best fitted to fill, #7 

As a matter of fact, the ease and rapidity with which aliens, under 
existing conditions in the United States, have been able to assimilate 
themselves to the customs and manners of American life have enabled 
this country to swallow and digest every sort of normal human differ- 


\ ence, except the purely externa! ones, like the color of the skin. 


It is probably true, also, that like-mindedness of the kind that 
sses itself in national types contributes indirectly by facilitating 


es 


—_ 


Eo EE Ee 


_ 


ASSIMILATION 750 





the inte rming Z of the different elements of the population to the 

4 y. This is due to the fact that the solidarity of 
modern, states-de pe ds less‘on the homogeneity of population than, as 
ce has suggested, upon the thorough-going mixture of 
heterogeneous elements. Like- mindedness, so far as that term signi- 
fies a standard grade of intelligence, contributes little or nothing to 
national solidarity. Likeness is, after all, a purely formal concept’ 
which of itself cannot hold anything together. 

In the last analysis social solidarity is based on sentiment and 
habit. It is the sentiment of loyalty and the habit _of what Sumner 
calls “‘ urrent action” that gives substance and insures unity to 
the ois as to every other type of social group. This sentiment of 
loyalty has its basis in a modus vivendi, a working relation and mutual 
understanding of the members of the group. Social institutions 


_ are not founded in similarities any more than they are founded 


in differences, but_in_ relations, and in the mutual interdepend- 
ence of parts. When these relations have the sanction of custom 
and are fixed in individual habit, so that the activities of the 
group are running smoothly, personal attitudes and sentiments, 
which are the only forms in which individual minds collide and 
clash with one another, easily accommodate themselves to the exist- 
ing situation. 

It may, perhaps, be said that loyalty itself is a fornt of like- 
mindedness or that it is dependent in some way upon the like- 
mindedness of the individuals whom it binds together. This, 
however, cannot be true, for there is no greater loyalty than that 
which binds the dog to his master, and this is a sentiment which 
that faithful animal usually extends to other members of the house- 
hold to which he belongs. A dog without a master is a dangerous 
animal, but the dog that has been domesticated is a member of 
society. He is not, of course, a citizen, although he is not entirely 
without rights. But he has got into some sort of practical working 
relations with the group to which he belongs. 

It is this practical working arrangement, into which individuals 


with widely different mental capacities enter as co-ordinate parts, 


that gives the corporate character to social groups and insures their 


solidarity. It is the process of assimilation by which groups of 


individuals, originally indifferent or perhaps hostile, achieve this 


/ 





- 


760 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


corporate character, rather than the process by which they acquire a 
formal like-mindedness, with which this paper is mainly concerned. 

The difficulty with the conception of assimilation which one 
ordinarily meets in discussions of the race problem is that it is based 
on observations confined to individualistic groups where the char- 
acteristic relations are indirect and secondary. It takes no account 
of the kind of assimilation that takes place in primary groups where 
relations are direct and personal—in the tribe, for example, and in 
the family. ; 

Thus Charles Francis Adams, referring to the race problem in an 
address at Richmond, Virginia, in November, 1908, said: 


The American system, as we know, was founded on the assumed basis 
of a common humanity, that is, absence of absolutely fundamental racial 
characteristics was accepted as an established truth. ‘Those of all races 
were welcomed to our shores. They came, aliens; they and their descend-- 
ants would become citizens first, natives afterward. It was a process first 
of assimilation and then of absorption. On this all depended. ‘There 
could be no permanent divisional lines. That theory is now plainly broken 
down. We are confronted by the obvious fact, as undeniable as it is 
hard, that the African will only partially assimilate and that he cannot 

_be.absorbed. He remains an alien element in the body politic. A foreign 
substance, he can neither be assimilated nor thrown out. 


More recently an editorial in the Outlook, discussing the Japanese 
situation in California, made this statement: 


The hundred millions of people now inhabiting the United States must 
be a united people, not merely a collection of groups of different peoples, 
\ different in racial cultures and ideals, agreeing to live together in peace 
‘and amity. These hundred millions must have common ideals, common 
aims, a common custom, a common culture, a common language, and 


common characteristics, if the nation is to endure. 
e 
/ All this is quite true and interesting, but it does not clearly recog- 


\nize the fact that the chief obstacle to the assimilation of the Negro 
and the Oriental are not mental but physical traits. It isnot because 
the Negro and the Japanese are so differently constituted that they 
do not assimilate. If they weye given an opportunity, the Japanese 
are quite as capable as the Italians, the Armenians, or the Slavs of © 
acquiring our culture and sharjng our national ideals. The trouble is 


eS 
gi 





ASSIMILATION 761 


not with the Japanese mind but with the Japanese skin. The Jap 
is not the right color. 
The fact that the Japanese bears in his features a distinctive 
racial hallmark, that he wears, so to speak, a.racial uniform, classifies 
him. -He cannot become a mere individual, indistinguishable in 
the cosmopolitan mass of the population, as is true, for example, 
of the Irish, and, to a lesser extent, of some of the other immigrant 
races. ‘The Japanese, like the Negro, is condemned to remain among 
us an abstraction, a symbol—and a symbol not merely of his own race 
but of the Orient and of that vague, ill-defined menace we sometimes 
refer to as the ‘“‘yellow peril.” This not only determines to a very 
large extent the attitude of the white world toward the yellow man 
but it determines the attitude of the yellow man toward the white. 


It puts between the races the invisible but very_real_gulf-ef-sel{- 


consciousness. 
There is another consideration. Peoples we know intimately we 


respect_and esteem. In our casual contact with aliens, however Lit) 
is the offensive rather than the pleasing traits that impress usl These 
impressions accumulate and reinforce natural prejudices. Where 
races are distinguished by certain external marks, these furnish a 
permanent physical substratum upon which and around which the 
irritations and animosities, incidental to all human intercourse, 
tend to accumulate and so gain strength and volume. 

Assimilation, as the word is here used, brings with it a certain 
borrowed significance which it carried over from physiology, where it 
is employed to describe the process of nutrition. By a process of 
nutrition, somewhat similar to the physiological one, we may conceive 
alien peoples to be incorporated with, and made’ part of, the com- 
munity or state. Ordinarily assimilation goes on silently and uncon- 
sciously, and only forces itself into popular conscience when there 
is some interruption or disturbance of the process. ; 

At the outset it may be said, then, that assimilation rarely becomes 






a problem t in secondary groups.. Admission to the primary 
group, tha the group in which relationships are direct and 


mple, in the family and in the tribe, makes 
tively easy and almost inevitable. 

ing illustration of this is the fact of domestic 
as been, historically, the usual method by which 








personal, 


762 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


peoples have been incorporated into alien groups. When a member 
of an alien race is adopted into the family as a servant or as a slave, 
and particularly when that status is made hereditary, as it was in the 
case of the Negro after his importation to America, assimilation 
followed rapidly and as a matter of course. 

It is difficult to conceive two races farther removed Boe each 

-other in temperament and tradition than the Anglo-Saxon and the 
Negro, and yet the Negro in the southern states, particularly where 
he was adopted into the household as a family servant, learned in a 
comparatively short time the manners and customs of his master’s 
family. He very soon possessed himself of so much of the language, 
religion, and the technique of the civilization of his master as, in his 
station, he was fitted or permitted to acquire. Eventually, also, 
Negro slaves transferred their allegiance to the state of which they 
were only indirectly members, or at least to their masters’ families, 
with whom they felt themselves in most things one in sentiment and . 
interest. 

The assimilation of the Negro field hand, where the contact of the 
slave with his master and his master’s family was less intimate, was 
naturally less complete. On the large plantations, where an overseer 
stood between the master and the majority of his slaves, and especially 
on the sea island plantations off the coast of South Carolina, where 
the master and his family were likely to be merely winter visitors, 
this distance between master and slave was greatly increased. ‘The 
consequence is that the Negroes in these regions are less touched 
today by the white man’s influence and civilization than elsewhere 
in the southern states. 


~€.. AMERICANIZATION AS A PROBLEM IN ASSIMILATION™ 





1. Americanization as Assimilation 


The Americanization Study has assumed that the fundamental. 
‘condition of what we call “ Americanization” ’-is_the participation of 
the immigrant in the life of the community in which he lives. = he’ 
point here emphasized is that patriotism, loyalty, and common sense 


The three selections under this heading are adapted from Memorandum on 
Americanization, prepared by the Division of Immigrant Heritages, of the Study 
of Methods of Americanization, of the Carnegie Corporation, New Yérk City, 1919. 


ASSIMILATION 763 


are neither created nor-transmitted by purely intellectual processes. 
Men must live and work and fight together in order to create that 
community of interest and sentiment which will enable them to meet 
the crises of their common life with a common will. 

It is evident, however, that the word “‘participation”’ as here 
employed has a wide application, and it becomes important for work- 
ing purposes to give a more definite and concrete meaning to the term. 


2. Language as a Means and a Product of Participation 


Obviously any organized social activity whatever and any partici- 
pation in this activity implies “communication.” In human, as 
distinguished from animal, society common life is based on a com 
mon on speech. To share a common speech does not guarantee canteen 
tion in the community life but it is an instrument of participation, and 
its acquisition by the members of an immigrant group is rightly 
considered a sign and a rough index of Americanization. 

It is, however, one of the ordinary experiences of social intercourse 
that words and things do not have the same meanings with different 
people,.in different parts of the country, in different periods of time, 
and, in general, in different contexts. The same “thing” has a 
different.meaning for the naive person and the sophisticated person, 
for the child and the philosopher; the new experience derives its 
significance from the character and organization of the previous 
experiences. To the peasant a comet, a plague, and an epileptic -—" 
- person may mean a divine portent, a visitation of God, a possession” 

by the devil; to the scientific. man they mean something te ver- - 
ent. The word “slavery” had very different connotations im the- 
ancient world and today. It has a very different,sign icance teday 
in the southern states and in the northern states. 
a very different significance to the imn : e 
pale living on the “East Side” of Ne city,’ ito the citizen on 
Riverside Drive, and to the nati tive 4 the hills of Georgia. 

Psychologists explain thi ¢if es connotation of the 
same word among people he sam guage in terms of differ- 
ence in the “apperce in differgat individuals and tei 
groups of individuals nraseology the “‘apperception mass” 
Soa the body s and meanings deposited in the con- | 

ciousness of the ind vide i from the totality of his experiences. It is 




















} 
} 
| 


| 


764 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the body of material with which every new datum of experience comes 
into contact, to which it is related, and in connection with which it 
gets its meaning. 

When persons interpret data on different grounds, when the 
apperception mass is radically different, we say popularly that they 
live in different worlds. The logician expresses._this by saying-that 
they occupy different “universes of discourse’’—that is, they cannot 
talk in the same terms. ‘The ecclesiastic, the artist, the mystic, 
the scientist, the Philistine, the Bohemian, represent more or less 
different “universes of discourse.’”” Even social workers occupy 
universes of discourse not mutually intelligible. 

Similarly, different races and nationalities as wholes represent 
different apperception masses and consequently different universes 
of discourse and are not mutually intelligible. Even our remote 
forefathers are with difficulty intelligible to us, though always more 
intelligible than the Eastern immigrant because of the continuity of 
our tradition. Still it is almost as difficult for us to comprehend 
Elsie Dinsmore or the Westminster Catechism as the Koran or the 
Talmud. | 

It is apparent, therefore, that in the wide extension and vast com- 
plexity of modern life, in which peoples of different races and cultures 
are now coming into intimate contact, the divergences in the mean- 
ings and values which individuals and groups attach to objects and 
forms of behavior are deeper than anything expressed by differences 












y common participation in common activities implies a 
ion of the situation.” In fact, every single act, and 
oral life, is dependent upon the definition of the 
iom of the situation precedes and limits any 
ition of the situation changes the char- 
person, for IE provokes anger 
»man is insane this 
ent behavior. 
| unsystematic means 


situatio 
possi 
acter of t the é Q 
and possibly 1 
redefinition of a sit 
f Every social group de 
of defining the situation fer | nga ig these means are 
/ the ‘‘don’ts” of the mother, the. goss mmunity, epithets 
| (“liar,?’ “traitor,” ‘‘scab”), the a 2, the newspaper, 
. the theater, the school, libraries, the sospel. Education 
; t 





















/ 


ar 


| 
| 


| 





ASSIMILATION 765 


in the widest sénse—intellectual,-moral; aesthetic—is the process of 
defining-the-situation. It is the process by which the definitions Jf 
of an older generation are transmitted to a younger. In the case of 
the immigrant it is the process by which the definitions of one cul- 
tural group are transmitted to another. 

_ Differences in meanings and values, referred to above in terms 
of the “‘apperception mass,” grow out of the fact that different 
individuals and different peoples have defined the situation in differ- 
ent ways. When we speak of the different “heritages” or “ tradi- 
tions” which different immigrant groups bring, it means that, 
owing to different historical circumstances, they have defined the 
situation differently. Certain prominent personalities, schools of 
thought, bodies of doctrine, historical events, have contributed in 
defining the situation and determining the attitudes and values of 
our various immigrant groups in characteristic ways in their home 
countries. To the Sicilian, for example, marital infidelity means the 
stiletto; to the American, the divorce court. And even when the 
immigrant thinks that he understands us, he nevertheless does not 
do this completely. At the best he interprets our cultural traditions 
in terms of his own. Actually the situation is progressively redefined 
by the consequencesof the actions, provoked by the previous 
definitions, and a prison experience is designed to provide a datum 
toward the redefinition of the situation. 

It is evidently important that the people who compose a com- 
munity and share in-the common life should have a sufficient body of 
common-memories to understand one another. This is particularly 
true in a democracy, where it is intended that the public institutions 
should be responsive to public opinion. There can be no public) 
Opinion except in so far as the persons who compose the public are 
able to live in the same world and speak and think in the same uni+ 
verse of discourse. For that reason-it~seems desirable that. the 
immigrantsshould not only speak the language of the cotntfTy~but—— 
should know something of the history of the people among whom 
they have chosen to dwell. For the same reason it is important that . 
native Americans should know the history and social life of the 
countries from which the immigrants come. 

It is important also that every individual should share as fully. 
as possible a fund of knowledge, experience, sentiments, and ideals 


766 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


‘common to the whole community and himself contribute to this fund. 
It is for this reason that we maintain and seek to maintain freedom 
of speech and free schools. The function of literature, including 
poetry, romance, and the newspaper, is to enable all to share vic- 
toriously and imaginatively in the inner life of each. The function of 
science is to gather up, classify, digest, and preserve, in a form in 
which they may become available to the community as a whole, 
the ideas, inventions, and technical experience of the individuals com- 
posing it. Thus not merely the pos com uage 
but the wide extension_of the opportunities Tor education become 
conditions of Americanization. 

The immigration problem is unique in the sense that the immi- 
grant brings divergent definitions of the situation, and this renders 
his participation in our activities diffictlt. At the same time this 
problem is of the same general type as the one exemplified by “syn- 
dicalism,” ‘‘bolshevism,” ‘“‘socialism,” etc., where the definition of 
the situation does not agree with the traditional one. ‘The modern 
“social unrest,” like the immigrant problem, is a sign of the lack of 
participation and this is true to the degree that certain elements 
feel that violence is the only available means of participating. 


3- Assimilation and the Mediation of Individual Differences 


“| In general, a period of unrest represents the stage in which a new 
. definition of the situation is being prepared. Emotion and unrest are 
connected with situations where there is loss of control. Control is 
secured on the basis of habits and habits are built up on the basis of 
the definition of the situation. Habit represents a situation where 
the definition is working. When control is lost it means that the 
habits are no longer adequate, that the situation has changed and 
demands a redefinition. This is the point at which we have unrest 
—a heightened emotional state, random movements, unregulated 
behavior--and this continues until the situation is redefined. The 
unrest is associated with conditions in which the individual or society 
feels unable to act. It represents energy, and the problem is to use 
it constructively. 

The older societies tended to treat unrest by defining the situation 
in terms of the suppression or postponement of the wish; they tried 
to make the repudiation of the wish itself a wish. ‘‘Contentment,”’ 


ASSIMILATION 767 


“conformity to the will of God,” ultimate “salvation” in a better 
world, are representative of this. The founders of America defined 
the situation in terms of participation, but this has actually taken 
too exclusively the form of “political participation.” ‘The present 
tendency is to define the situation in terms of social participation, 
including demand for the improvement of social conditions to a 
degree which will enable all to participate. 

But, while it is important that the people who are members of 
the same community should have a body of common memories and a 
common apperception mass, so that they may talk intelligibly to one 
another, it is neither possible nor necessary that everything should 
have the same meaning for everyone. A perfectly homogeneous con- 
sciousness would mean a tendency to define all situations rigidly and 
sacredly and once and forever. Something like this did happen in 
the Slavic village communities and among all savage people, and it 
was the ideal of the medieval church, but-it-implies a low level of 
efficiency and a slaw rate of progress— 11. . — —-———-——— ey 

Mankind is distinguished, in fact, from the animal world iby being 
composed of persons of divergent types, of varied tastes and interests, 


of different vocations and functions. Civilization isthe product-of— 


ap_association of widely different individuals, and with the progress 


of civilization the divergence in individual human types has been 
‘and must continue to be constantly multiplied. Our progress in the 


arts and sciences and in the creation of values in general has been © 


dependent on specialists whose distinctive-worth was precisely their 
divergence from other individuals. It is even evident that we have 
been able to use productively individuals who in a savage or peasant 
society would have been classed as insane—who perhaps were indeed 
insane. 

The ability to participate productively implies thus a diversity of 
attitudes.and values in the participants, but a diversity not so great as 
to lower the morals of the community and to prevent effective 
co- operation. It is important to have ready definitions for all 
immediate situations, but progress is dependent on the constant 
’ redefinitions for all immediate situations, and the ideal condition for 
this is the presence of individuals with divergent definitions, who 
contribute, in part consciously and in part unconsciously, through 
their individualism and labors to a common task and a common end. 





Be 


f~ 


f 
a 


\ 
— 


we, 


768 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Tt is only in this way that an intelligible world, in which each can 
participate according to his intelligence, comes into existence. For itis 
only through their consequences that words get their meanings or that 
situations become defined. It is through conflict and co-operation, 
or, to use a current phrase-of-eeenemists, through “competitive 
co-operation,” that a distinctively human type of society does any- 
where exist. Privacy and publicity, ‘‘society” and solitude, public 
ends and private enterprises, are each and all distinctive factors 
in human society everywhere. They are particularly characteristic 
of historic American democracy. 

In this whole connection it appears that the group consciousness 
and the individual himself are formed by communication and par- 
ticipation, and that the communication and participation are them- 
selves dependent for their meaning on common interests. 

But it would be an error to assume that participation always 


implies an intimate personal, face-to-face relation. Specialists par- . 


ticipate notably and productively in our common life, but this is 
evidently not on the basis of personal association with their neighbors. 
Darwin was assisted by Lyell, Owen, and other contemporaries in 
working out a new definition of the situation, but these men were not 
his neighbors. When Mayer worked out his theory of the transmu- 
tation of energy, his neighbors in the village of Heilbronn were so far 


from participating that they twice confined him in insane asylums. A 


postage stamp may be a more efficient instrument of participation 
than a village meeting. | 
Defining the situation with reference to the participation of the 
immigrant is of course not solving the problem of immigration. 
This involves an analysis of the whole significance of the qualitative 
and quantitative character of a population, with reference to any 
given values—standards of living, individual level of efficiency, 
liberty and determinism, etc. We have, for instance, in America a 
certain level of culture, depending, let us say as a minimum, on the 
perpetuation of our public-school system. But, if by some con- 
ceivable lusus naturae the birth rate was multiplied a hundred fold, 
or by some conceivable cataclysm a hundred million African blacks 
were landed annually on our eastern coast and an equal number of 
Chinese coolies on our western coast, then we should have neither 
teachers enough nor buildings enough nor material resources enough 


Se ee ee 








ASSIMILATION \ * 769 


to impart even the three R’s to a fraction of the population, andthe 
outlook of democracy, so far as it is dependent upon participatisn, 
would become very dismal. On the other hand, it is conceivable that 
certain immigrant populations in certain numbers, with their special - 
temperaments, endowments, and social heritages, would contribute 
positively and increasingly to our stock of civilization. These are 
questions to be determined, but certainly if the immigrant is admitted 

on any basis whatever the condition of his Americanization is that 

he shall have the widest and freest opportunity to contribute in his 
own way to the common fund of knowledge, ideas, and ideals which 
makes up the culture of our common country. It is only in this way 
that the immigrant can “participate” in the fullest sense of the term. __, 
a of 

Ill. “INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 


1. Assimilation and Amalgamation 


The literature upon assimilation falls naturally under three main 
heads: (1) assimilation and amalgamation; (2) the conflict and | 
fusion of cultures; and (3) immigration and Americanization. r 

Literature on assimilation is very largely a by-product of the 
controversy in regard to the relative superiority and inferiority of 
races. ‘This controversy owes its existence, in the present century, 
to the publication in 1854 of Gobineau’s The Inequality of Human 
Races. ‘This treatise appeared at a time when the dominant peoples 
of Europe were engaged in extending their benevolent protection 
over all the “unprotected” lesser breeds, and this book offered a 
justification, on biological grounds, of the domination of the ‘‘inferior”’ 
by the “‘superior”’ races. 

Gobineau’s theory, and that of the schools which have perpetuated 
and elaborated his doctrines, defined culture as an essentially racial] 
trait. Other races might accommodate themselves to, but could not 
originate nor maintain a superior culture. This is the aristocratic 
theory of the inequalities of races and, as might be expected, -was 
_ received with enthusiasm by the chauvinists of the ‘‘strong”’ nations. 

The opposing school is disposed to treat the existing civilizations 
as largely the result of historical accident. The superior peoples are 
those who have had access to the accumulated cultural materials of 


779 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the peoples that preceded them. molt Europe owes its civilization 


to the fact that it went to school to the ancients. The ‘inferior - 


. peoples are those who did not have this advantage. 

Ratzel was one of the first to venture the theory that the natural 
and the cultural peoples were fundamentally alike and that the 
existing differences, great as they are, were due to geographical and 
cultural isolation of the less advanced races. Boas’ Mind of Primitive 
Man is the most systematic and critical statement of that view of the 
matter. 

The discussion which these rival theories provoked has led stu- 
dents to closer studies of the effects of racial contacts and to a more 
penetrating analysis of the cultural process. 

The contacts of races have invariably led to racial intermixture, 
and the mixed breed, as in the case of the mulatto, the result of the 
white-Negro cross, has tended to create a distinct cultural as well as 


a racial type. E. B. Reuter’s volume on The Mulatto is the first’ 


serious attempt to study the mixed blood as a cultural type and define 
his réle in the conflict of races and cultures. 

Historical cases of the assimilation of one group by another are 
frequent. Kaindl’s investigations of the German settlements in the 
Carpathian lands are particularly instructive. The story of the 
manner in which the early German settlers in Cracow, Galicia, were 
Polonized mainly under the influence of the Polish nobility, is all 
the more interesting when it is contrasted with the German colonists 
in the Siebenbiirgen, which have remained strongholds of the German 
language and culture in the midst of a population of Roumanian 
peasants for nearly eight hundred years. Still more interesting are 
the recent attempts of the Prussians to Germanize the former province 
of Posen, now reunited to Poland. Prussia’s policy of colonization 
of German peasants in Posen failed for several reasons, but it failed 
finally because the German peasant, finding himself isolated in the 
midst of a Polish community, either gave up the land the government 
had acquired for him and returned to his native German province, or 
identified himself with the Polish community and was thus lost 
to the cause of German nationalism. The whole interesting history 
of that episode is related in Bernhard’s Die Polenfrage, which is at the 
same time an account of the organization of ous Polish 
community within the limits of a German sta 





ASSIMILATION 771 


The competition and survival of languages afford interesting 
material for the study of cultural contacts and the conditions that 
determine assimilation. Investigations of the racial origins of Euro- 
pean peoples have discovered a great number of curious cultural 
anomalies. There are peoples like the Spreewdlder who inhabit a 
little cultural island of about 240 miles square in the Province of 
Brandenburg, Prussia. Surviving remnants of a Slavic people, they 
still preserve their language and their tribal costumes, and, although 
but thirty thousand in number and surrounded by Germans, maintain 
a lively literary movement all their own. On the other hand, the 
most vigorous and powerful of the Germanic nationalities, the Prus- 
sian, bears the name of a conquered Slavic people whose language, 
“Old Prussian,’ not spoken since the seventeenth century, is pre- 
served only in a few printed books, including a catechism and German- 
Prussian vocabulary, which the German philologists have rescued 
from oblivion. 


2. The Conflict and Fusion of Cultures 


The contacts and transmission of cultures have been investigated 
in different regions of social life under different titles. The ethnolo- 
gists have investigated the process among primitive peoples under the 
title acculturation. Among historical peoples, on the other hand, 
acculturation has been called assimilation. The aim of missions has 
been, on the whole, to bring the world under the domination of a 
single moral order; but in seeking to accomplish this task they have 
contributed greatly to the fusion and cross-fertilization of racial and 
national cultures. | 

The problem of origin is the first and often the most perplexing 
problem which the study of primitive cultures presents.1 Was a 
given cultural trait, i.e., a weapon, a tool, or a myth, borrowed or 
invented? For example, there are several independent centers of 
origin and propagation of the bow and arrow. Writing approached 
or reached perfection in at least five different, widely separated 
regions. Other problems of acculturation which have been studied 
include the following: the degree and order of transmissibility of 
different cultural traits; the persistence or the immunity against 
change of different traits; the modification of cultural traits in the 


tSee chap. 1, pp. 16-24. 


72 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


process of transmission; the character of social contacts between 
cultural groups; the distance that divides cultural levels; and the 
réle of prestige in stimulating imitation and copying. | 

The development of a world-commerce, the era of European 
colonization and imperial expansion in America, Asia, and Africa and 
Australia, the forward drive of occidental science and the Western 
system of large-scale competitive industry have created racial con- 
tacts, cultural changes, conflicts, and fusions of unprecedented and 
unforeseen extent, intensity, and immediateness. The crash of a 
fallen social order in Russia reverberates throughout the world; 
reports of the capitalization of new enterprises indicate that India 
is copying the economic organization of Europe; the feminist move- 
ment has invaded Japan; representatives of close to fifty nations of 
the earth meet in conclave in the assembly of the League of Nations. 

So complete has been in recent years the interpenetration of 
peoples and cultures that nations are now seeking to preserve their 
existence not alone from assault from without by force of arms, but 
they are equally concerned to protect themselves from the more 
insidious attacks of propaganda from within. Under these circum- 
stances the ancient liberties of speech and press are being scrutinized 
and questioned. Particularly is this true when this freedom of speech 
and press is exercised by alien peoples, who criticize our institutions 
in a foreign tongue and claim the right to reform native institutions 
before they have become citizens and even before they are able to 
use the native language. 


3. Immigration and Americanization 


The presence of large groups of foreign-born in the United States 
was first conceived of as a problem of immigration. From the period 
of the large Irish immigration to this country in the decades following 
1820 each new immigrant group called forth a popular literature of | 
protest against the evils its presence threatened. After 1890 the 
increasing volume of immigration and the change in the-source of the 
immigrants from northwestern Europe to southeastern Europe inten- 
sified the general concern. In 1907 the Congress of the United States 
created the Immigration Commission to make “full inquiry, examina- 
tion, and investigation into the subject of immigration.” The plan 
and scope of the work as outlined by the Commission “included a 


ASSIMILATION 773 


study of the sources of recent immigration in Europe, the general 
character of incoming immigrants, the methods employed here and 
abroad to prevent the immigration of persons classed as undesirable 
in the United States immigration law, and finally a thorough investiga- 
tion into the general status of the more recent immigrants as residents 
of the United States, and the effect of such immigration upon the 
institutions, industries, and people of this country.”’ In 1910 the 
Commission made a report of its investigations and findings together 
with its conclusions and recommendations which were published in 
forty-one volumes. 

The European War focused the attention of the country upon 
the problem of Americanization. ‘The public mind became conscious 
of the fact that “the stranger within our gates,”’ whether naturalized 
or unnaturalized, tended to maintain his loyalty to the land of his 
origin, even when it seemed to conflict with loyalty to the country of 
his sojourn or his adoption. A large number of superficial investi- 
gations called “surveys” were made of immigrant colonies in the 
larger cities of the country. Americanization work of many varieties 
developed apace. A vast literature sprang up to meet the public 
demand for information and instruction on this topic. In view of 
this situation the Carnegie Corporation of New York City undertook 
in 1918 a “Study of the Methods of Americanization or Fusion of 
Native and Foreign Born.” ‘The point of view from which ‘the study 
was made may be inferred from the following statement by its director, 
Allen T. Burns: 


Americanization is the uniting of new with native born Americans in 
fuller common understanding and appreciation to secure by means of self- 
government the highest welfare of all. Such Americanization should pro- 
duce no unchangeable political, domestic, and economic régime delivered 
once for all to the fathers, but a growing and broadening national life, 
inclusive of the best wherever found. With all our rich heritages, Ameri- 
canism will develop through a mutual giving and taking of contributions 
from both newer and older Americans in the interest of the common weal. 
This study will follow such an understanding of Americanization. 


The study, as originally planned, was divided into ten divisions, as 
follows: the schooling of the immigrant, the press and the theater, 
adjustment of homes and family life, legal protection and correction, 
health standards and care, naturalization and political life, industrial 


774 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIEN CE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and economic amalgamation, treatment of immigrant - heritages, 
neighborhood agencies, and rural developments. The findings of 
these different parts of the study are presented in separate volumes. 

This is the most recent important survey-investigation of the 
immigrant, although there are many less imposing but significant 
studies in this field. Among these are the interesting analyses of 
the assimilation process in Julius Drachsler’s Democracy and Assimi- 
lation and in A. M. Dushkin’s study of Jewish Education in New 
York City. : 

The natural history of assimilation may be best studied in per- 
sonal narratives and documents, such as letters and autobiographies, 
or in monographs upon urban and rural immigrant communities. In 
recent years a series of personal narrative and autobiographical 
sketches have revealed the intimate personal aspects of the assimi- 
lation process. ‘The expectancy and disillusionment of the first 
experiences, the consequent nostalgia and homesickness, gradual 
accommodation to the new situation, the first participations in 
American life, the fixation of wishes in the opportunities of the 
American social! environment, the ultimate identification of the person 
with the memories, sentiments, and future of his adopted country— 
all these steps in assimilation are portrayed in such interesting books 
as The Far Journey by Abraham Rihbany, The Promised Land by 
Mary Antin, Out of the Shadow by Rose Cohen, An American in the 
Making by M. E. Ravage, My Mother and I by E. G. Stern. 

The most reflective use of personal documents for the study of 
the problems of the immigrant has been made by Thomas and Znani- 
eckiin The Polish Peasant in Europe and America. In these studies 
letters and life-histories have been, for the first time, methodically 
employed to exhibit the processes of adjustment in the transition 
from a European peasant village to the immigrant colony of an 
American industrial community. 

The work of Thomas and Znaniecki is in a real sense a study of 
the Polish community in Europe and America. Less ambitious 
studies have been made of individual immigrant communities. Sev- 
eral religious communities composed of isolated and unassimilated 
groups, such as the German Mennonites, have been intensively studied. 

Materials valuable for the study of certain immigrant commu- 
nities, assembled for quite other purposes, are contained in the 


ASSIMILATION 775 


almanacs, yearbooks, and local histories of the various immigrant 
communities. The most interesting of these are the Jewish Communal 
Register of New York and the studies made by the Norwegian Luth- 
eran Church in America under the direction of O. M. Norlie. 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. ASSIMILATION AND AMALGAMATION 


A. The Psychology and Sociology of Assimilation 


(1) Wundt, Wilhelm. “Bemerkungen zur Associationslehre,’’ Philo- 
sophische Studien, VII (1892), 329-61. [‘‘Complication und As- 
similation,” pp. 334-53.] 

(2) Grundsztige der physiologischen Psychologied “* Assimi- 

-  Jationen,”’ ITI, 528-35. sthed. Leipzig, 1903. 

(3) Ward, James. “Association and Assimilation,” Mind, N.S., 
II (1893), 347-62; III (1894), 509-32. 

(4) Baldwin, J. Mark. Mental Development in the Child and the Race. 
Methods and processes. ‘Assimilation, Recognition,” pp. 308-19. 
New York, 1895. 

(5) Novicow, J. Les Luttes entre sociétés humaines et leur phases suc- 
cessives. Book II, chap. vii, “La Dénationalisation,” pp. 125-53. 
Paris, 1893. [Definition of denationalization. | 





(6) Ratzenhofer, Gustav. Die sociologische Erkenntnis, pp. 4i-42. 
Leipzig, 1808. 

(7) Park, Robert E. “Racial Assimilation in Secondary Groups 
with Particular Reference to the Negro,” American Journal of 
Sociology, XIX (1913-14), 606-23. 

(8) Simons, Sarah E. ‘‘Social Assimilation,’ American Journal of 
Sociology, VI (1900-1901), 790-822; VII (1901-2), 53-70, 234-48, 
386-404, 539-56. [Bibliography.] 

(9) Jenks, Albert E. “Assimilation in the Philippines as Interpreted 
in’Terms of Assimilation in America,” Publications of the American 
Sociological Society, VIII (1913), 140-58. 

(10) McKenzie, F. A. “The Assimilation of the American Indian,” 
Publications of the American Sociological Society, VIII (1913), 
37-48. [Bibliography.] 

(11) Ciszewski, S. Kiinstliche Verwandschaft bet den Siidslaven. 
Leipzig, 1897. 

(12) Windisch, H. Taufe und Siinde im Gltesten Christentum bis auf 
Origines. Ein Beitrag zur altchristlichen Dogmengeschichte. 
Tiibingen, 1908. 


*See Menighetskalenderen. (Minneapolis, Minn.: Augsburg Publishing Co., 
1917.) 


770 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


B. Assimilation and Amalgamation 


(1) Gumplowicz, Ludwig. Der Rassenkampf. Sociologische Unter- 
suchungen, sec. 38, “‘Wie die Amalgamirung vor sich geht,” 
pp. 253-63. Innsbruck, 1883. 

(2) Commons, John R. Races and Immigrants in America. Chap. 
ix, “Amalgamation and Assimilation,’ pp. 198-238. New ed. 
New York, 1920. [See also pp. 17~-21.] 

(3) Ripley, William Z. The Races of Europe. A sociological study. 
Chap. ui, ‘Language, Nationality, and Race,” pp. 15-36. Chap. 
Xvili, ‘‘European Origins: Race and Culture,” pp. 486-512. 
New York, 1899. 

(4) Fischer, Eugen. Die Rehobother Bastards und das Bastardierungs- 
problem beim Menschen. Anthropologische und ethnographische 
Studien am Rehobother Bastardvolk in Deutsch-Siidwest Afrika. 
Jena, 1913. 

(5) Mayo-Smith, Richmond. “Theories of Mixture of Races and 
Nationalities,” Yale Review, III (1894), 166-86. 

(6) Smith, G. Elliot. ‘The Influence of Racial Admixture in Egypt,” 
Eugenics Review, VII (1915-16), 163-83. 

(7) Reuter, E. B. The Mulatto in the United States. Including a 
study of the rdle of mixed races throughout the world. Boston, 
I918. 

(8) Weatherly, Ulysses G. “The Racial Element in Social Assimi- 
lation,” Publications of the American Sociological Society, V (1910), 
Siw] 





. “Race and Marriage,” American Journal of Sociology, 
XV (1909-10), 433-53- 

(10) Roosevelt, Theodore. ‘Brazil and the Negro,” Outlook, CVI 
(1904), 400-11 ey | ” 

(11) Drachsler, Julius. Intermarriage in New York City. A statistical 
study of the amalgamation of European peoples. New York, 1921. 


Il. THE CONFLICT AND FUSION OF CULTURES 


A. Process of Acculturation 


(1) Ratzel, Friedrich. The History of Mankind. Vol..I, Book I, 
sec. 4, “Nature, Rise and Spread of Civilization,” pp. . 20-30. 
Vol. II, sec. 31, “Origin and Development of the Old American 
Civilization,’’ pp. 160-70. Translated from the 2d German ed. 
by A. J. Butler. 3 vols. London, 1896-08. 

(2) Rivers, W. H. R. “The Ethnological Analysis of Culture,” 
Report of the 81st Meeting of the British Association for the Advance- 
ment of Science, 1911, Pp. 490-90. 

(3) Frobenius, L. Der Ursprung der afrikanischen Kulturen. Berlin, 
1808. 

(4) Boas, Franz. The Mind of Primitive Man. Chap. Wipe ee 
Universality of Cultural Traits,” pp. 155-73. Chap. vii, ‘The 
Evolutionary Viewpoint,” pp. 174-96. New York, rort. 

(5) Vierkandt, A. Die Stetigkeit im Kulturwandel. Eine sociologische 
Studie. Leipzig, 1908. 


ASSIMILATION 777 


(6) McGee, W J. “Piratical Acculturation,” American Anthropolo- 
gist, XI (1898), 243-S1. 

(7) Crooke, W. ‘‘Method of Investigation and Folklore Origins,” 
Folklore, XXIV (1913), 14-40. 

(8) Graebner, F. “Die melanesische Bogenkultur und ihre Ver- 
wandten,” Anthropos, IV (1909), 726-80, 998-1032. 

(9) Lowie, Robert H. ‘On the Principle of Convergence in Ethnol- 
ogy,” Journal of American Folklore, XXV (1912), 24-42. 

(ro) Goldenweiser, A. A. ‘“‘The Principle of Limited Possibilities in 
the Development of Culture,” Journal of American Folklore, 
XXVI (1913), 259-90. 

(11) Dixon, R. B. “The Independence of the Culture of the American 
Indian,” Science, N.S., XXXV (1912), 46-55. 

(12) Johnson, W. Folk-Memory. Or the continuity of British archae- 
ology. Oxford, 1908. 

(13) Wundt, Wilhelm. Vdélkerpsychologie. Eine Untersuchung der 
Entwicklungsgesetze von Sprache, Mythus, und Sitte. Band I, 
“Die Sprache.” 3 vols. Leipzig, 1900-19090. 

(14) Tarde, Gabriel. The Laws of Imitation. Translated from the 
2d French ed. by Clews Parsons. New York, 1903. 


B. Nationalization and Denationalization 


(1) Bauer, Otto. Die Nationalitiétenfrage und die Sozialdemokratie. 
Chap. vi, sec. 30, ‘‘Der Sozialismus und das Nationalitatsprinzip,” 
pp. 507-21. In: Adler, M., and Hildering, R. Marx-Studien; 
Blatter zur Theorie und Politik des wissenschaftlichen Sozialismus. 
Band IT. Wien, 1907. 

(2) Kerner, R. J. Slavic Europe. A selected bibliography in the 
western European languages, comprising history, languages, and 
literature. “The Slavs and Germanization,’ Nos. 2612-13, 
pp. 193-95. Cambridge, Mass., 1918. 

(3) Delbriick, Hans. ‘“‘Das Polenthum,” Preussische Jahrbiicher, 
LXXVI (April, 1894), 173-86. 

(4) Warren, H. C. ‘Social Forces and International Ethics,” Jnter- 
national Journal of Ethics, XXVII (1917), 350-56. 

(5) Prince, M. ‘‘A World Consciousness and Future Peace,” Journal 
of Abnormal Psychology, XI (1917), 287-304. 

(6) Reich, Emil. General History of Western Nations, from 5000 B.C. 
to t900 A.D. ‘‘Europeanization of Humanity,” pp. 33-65, 
480-82. (Vols. I-II published.) London, 1908. 

(7) Thomas, William I. ‘‘The Prussian-Polish Situation: an Experi- 
ment in Assimilation,” American Journal of Sociology, XIX (1913- 
14), 624-39. 

(8) Parkman, Francis. Conspiracy of Pontiac and the Indian Wars 
after the Conquest of Canada. 8th ed., 2 vols. Boston, 1877. 
[Discusses the cultural effects of the mingling of French and 
Indians in Canada.| 

(9) Moore, William H. The Clash. A study in nationalities. New 
York, 1919. [French and English cultural contacts in Canada.! 


778 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(10) Mayo-Smith, Richmond. “Assimilation of Nationalities in the 


United States,” Political Science Quarterly, IX (1894), 426-44, 
649-70. 

(11) Kelly,J.Liddell. ‘‘ New Race in the Making; Many Nationalities in 
the Territory of Hawaii—Process of Fusion Proceeding—the Coming 
Pacific Race,” Westminster Review. CLXXV (1911), 357-06. 

(12) Kallen, H. M. Structure of Lasting Peace. An inquiry into the 
motives of war and peace. Boston, 1918. 

(13) Westermarck, Edward. ‘‘Finland and the Czar,” Contemporary 
Review, LX XV (1899), 652-50. 

(14) Brandes, Georg. ‘‘ Denmark and Germany,” Contemporary Review, 
LXXVI (1899), 92-104. 

(15) Marvin, Francis S. The Unity of Western Civilization. Essays. 
London and New York, rors. 

(16) Fishberg, Maurice. The Jews: a Study in Race and Environment. 
London and New York, to11. [Chap. xxii deals with assimilation 
versus nationalism.] 

(17) Bailey, W. F., and Bates, Jean V. ‘“‘The Early German Settlers 
in Transylvania,” Fortnightly Review, CVII (1917), 661-74. 

(18) Auerbach, Bertrand. Les Races et les nationalitiés en Autriche- 
Hongrie. Paris, 18098. 

(r9) Cunningham, William. Alien Immigrants to England. London 
and New York, 1897. 

(20) Kaindl, Raimund Friedrich. Geschichte der Deutschen in den 
Karpathenlindern. Vol. I, ‘Geschichte der Deutschen in Galizien 
bis 1772.’ 3 vols. in 2. Gotha, 1907-11. 


C. Missions 


(1) Moore, Edward C. The Spread of Christianity in the Modern 
World. Chicago, 1919. [Bibliography.] 

(2) World Missionary Conference. Report of the World Missionary 
Conference, 1910. 9 vols. Chicago, 1910. 

(3) Faunce, W. H. P. The Social Aspects of Foreign Missions. New 
York, 1914. 

(4) Robinson, Charles H. History of Christian Missions. New York, 
IQ15. 

(5) Speer, Robert E. Missions and Modern History. A study of the 
missionary aspects of some great movements of the nineteenth 
century. 2 vols. New York, 1904. 

(6) Warneck, Gustav. Outline of a History of Protestant Missions 
from the Reformation to the Present Time. A contribution to 
modern church history. ‘Translated from the German by George 
Robson. Chicago, 1901. 

(7) Creighton, Louise. Missions. Their rise and development. New 
York, 1912. [Bibliography.] 

(8) Pascoe, C.F. Two Hundred Years of the Society for the Propagation 
of the Gospel, r701-1900. Based on a digest of the Society’s 
records. London, rgotr. 

(9) Parkman, Francis. The Jesuits in North America in the Seventeenth 


Century. Part IJ. ‘France and England in North America.” 


Boston, 1902. 


ASSIMILATION 779 


(10) Bryce, James. Impressions of South Africa. Chap. xxii, “Mis- 
sions,” pp. 384-93. 3ded. New York, 1900. 

(11) Sumner, W. G. Folkways. ‘Missions and Antagonistic Mores,” 
pp. 111-14, 629-31. New York, 1rgo6. 

(12) Price, Maurice T. Christian Missions and Oriental Civilizations. 
With an introduction by Robert E. Park. Shanghai, China, 1924. 

(13) Coffin, Ernest W. ‘‘On the Education of Backward Races,” 
Pedagogical Seminary, XV (1908), 1-62. ([Bibliography.] 

(14) Blackmar, Frank W. Spanish Colonization in the South West. 
“The Mission System,” pp. 28-48. ‘‘Johns Hopkins University 
Studies in Historical and Political Science.” Baltimore, 1890. 

(15) Johnston, Harry H. George Grenfell and the Congo. A history 
and description of the Congo Independent State and adjoining 
districts of Congoland, together with some account of the native 
peoples and their languages, the fauna and flora, and similar 
notes on the Cameroons, and the Island of Fernandu P6, the 
whole founded on the diaries and researches of the late Rev. 
George Grenfell, B.M.S., F.R.S.G.; and on the records of the 
British Baptist Missionary society; and on additional information 
contributed by the author, by the Rev. Lawson Forfeitt, Mr. 
Emil Torday, and others. 2 vols. London, 1908. 

(16) Kingsley, Mary H. West African Studies. Pp. 107-9, 272-75. 
2d ed. London, 1901. 

(17) Morel, E. D. Affairs of West Africa. Chaps. xxii—xxiii, ‘Islam 
in West Africa,” pp. 208-37. London, 1902. 

(18) Sapper, Karl. ‘‘Der Charakter der mittelamerikanischen In- 
dianer,”’ Globus, LX XXVII (1905), 128-31. 

(19) Fleming, Daniel J. Devolution in Mission Administration. As 
exemplified by the legislative history of five American missionary 
societies in India. New York, 1916. .[Bibliography.] 


Il. IMMIGRATION AND AMERICANIZATION 


A. Immigration and the Immigrant 


(1) United States Immigration Commission. Reports of the Immigra- 
tion Commission. 41 vols. Washington, rort. 

(2) Lauck, William J., and Jenks, Jeremiah. The Immigration 
Problem. New York, 1912. 

(3) Commons, John R. Races and Immigrants in America. New ed. 
New York, 1920. 

(4) Fairchild, Henry P. Immigration. A world-movement and its 
American significance. New York, 1913. [Bibliography.] 

(5) Ross, E. A. The Old World in the New. The significance of past 
and present immigration to the American People. New York, 


IQT4. 

(6) Abbott, Grace. The Immigrant and the Community. With an 
introduction by Judge Julian W. Mack. New York, 1917. 

(7) Steiner, Edward A. On the Trail of the Immigrant. New York, 


1906. 
(8) 





The Immigrant Tide, Its Ebb and Flow. Chicago, 1909. 


780 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(9) Brandenburg, Broughton. Imported Americans. The story of 
the experience of a disguised American and his wife studying the 
immigration question. New York, 1904. 

(10) Kapp, Friedrich. Immigration and the Commissioners of Emigra- 
tion of the State of New York. New York, 1880. 

(11) Abbott, Edith. Immigration: Select Documents and Case Records. 
Chicago, 1924. 


B. Immigrant Communities 


(1) Faust, Albert B. The German Element in the United States. With 
special reference to its political, moral, social, and educational - 
influence. New York, 1900. 

(2) Green, Samuel S. The Scotch-Irish in America, 1595. A paper 
read as the report of the Council of the American Antiquarian 
Society, at the semi-annual meeting, April 24, 1895, with corre- 
spondence called out by the paper. Worcester, Mass., 1895. 

(3) Hanna, Charles A. The Scotch-Irish. Or the Scot in North 
Britain, North Ireland, and North America. New York and 
London, 1902. 

(4) Jewish Publication Society of America. The American Jewish 
Yearbook. Philadelphia, 1899. 

(5) Jewish Communal Register, rto1t7-1918. 2d ed. Edited and 
published by the Kehillah (Jewish Community) of New York 
City. New York, roro. 

(6) Balch, Emily G. Our Slavic Fellow Citizens. New York, 1910. 

(7) Millis, Harry A. The Japanese Problem in the United States. An 
investigation for the Commission on Relations with Japan appointed 
by the Federai Council of the Churches of Christ in America. 
New York, 1015. 

(8) Fairchild, Henry P. Greek Immigration to the United States. 
New Haven, rort. . 

(9) Burgess, Thomas. Greeks in America. An account of their 
coming, progress, customs, living, and aspirations; with a historical 
introduction and the stories of some famous American-Greeks. ; 
Boston, 1913. ) 

(10) Coolidge, Mary R. Chinese Immigration. New York, 1909. | 
(11) Chen, Ta. Chinese Migrations. With special reference to labor | 
conditions. Bulletin of the United States Bureau of Labor Statis- 





tics, No. 340. Washington, 1923. 

(12) Foerster, Robert F. The Italian Emigration of Our Times. Cam- 
bridge, Mass., rg19. 

(13) Lord, Eliot, Trenor, John J. D., and Barrows, Samuel J. The ; 
Italian in America. New York, 1905. 

(14) DuBois, W. E. Burghardt. The Philadelphia Negro, A Social ) 
Study. ‘Together with a special report on domestic service by 
Isabel Eaton. “Publications of the University of Pennsylvania, 
Series in Political Economy and Public Law,” No. 14. Phila- 
delphia, 1899. 

(15) Williams, Daniel J. The Welsh of Columbus, Ohio. A study in 
adaptation and assimilation. Oshkosh, Wis., 1913. 


ASSIMILATION 781 


(16) Taft, Donald R. Two Portuguese Communities in New England. 
New York, 10923. 

(17) Hitti, Philip K. The Syrians in America. New York, 1924. 

(18) Davis, Jerome. The Russian Immigrant. New York, 1922. 

(19) Wargelin, John. The Americanization of the Finns. Hancock, 
Mich., 1924. 


C. Americanization 


(1) Drachsler, Julius. Democracy and Assimilation. The blending 
of immigration heritages in America. New York, 1920. [Bibliog- 
raphy.| 

(2) Dushkin, Alexander M. Jewish Education in New York City. 
New York, 1918. 

(3) Thompson, Frank V. Schooling of the Immigrant. New York, 
1920. 

(4) Daniels, John. America via the Neighborhood. New York, 1920. 

(s) Park, Robert E., and Miller, Herbert A. Old World Traits Trans- 
planted. New York, 1921. 

(6) Speek, Peter A. A Stake in the Land. New York, 1921. 

(7) Davis, Michael M. Immigrant Health and the Community. New 
York, 1921. 

(8) Breckinridge, Sophonisba P. New Homes for Old. New York, 
1921. 

(9) Leiserson, William M. Adjusting Immigrant and Industry. 
New York, 1924. 

(10) Gavit, John P. Americans by Choice. New York, 1922. .« 
(11) Claghorn, Kate H. The Immigrant’s Day in Court. New York, 


1923. 

(12) nen Robert E. Zhe Immigrant Press and Its Control. New 
York, 1922. 

(13) Miller, Herbert A. The School and the Immigrant. Cleveland 
Education Survey. Cleveland, 1916. 

(14) Kallen, Horace M. ‘‘Democracy versus the Melting-Pot, a 
Study of American Nationality.” Nation, C (1915), 190-94, 
217-20. 

(15) Gulick, Sidney L. American Democracy and Asiatic Citizenship. 
New York, 1918. 

(16) Talbot, Winthrop, editor. Americanization. Principles of Ameri- 
canism; essentials of Americanization; technic of race-assimilation. 
New York, 1917. [Annotated bibliography.] 

(17) Stead, W. T. The Americanization of the World. Or the trend 
of the twentieth century. New York and London, 1gotr. 

(18) Aronovici, Carol. Americanization. St. Paul, ro1g. [Also in 
American Journal of Sociology, XXV (1919-20), 695-730.] 


~ PD. Personal Documents 


(1) Bridges, Horace. On Becoming an American. Some meditations 
of a newly naturalized immigrant. Boston, ro1o9. 

(2) Riis, Jacob A. The Making of an American. New York, toot. 

(3) Rihbany, Abraham Mitrie. A Far Journey. Boston, 1914. 


782 


Nu -& WwW bd 


Io. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(4) Hasanovitz, Elizabeth. One of Them. Chapters from a passionate 
autobiography. Boston, 1018. 
(5) Cohen, Rose. Out of the Shadow. New York, 1918. 
(6) Ravage, M. E. An American in the Making. The life-story of 
an immigrant. New York, ror7. 
(7) Cahan, Abraham. The Rise of David Levinsky. A novel. New 
Yorkyior7. 
(8) Antin, Mary. The Promised Land. New York, 10912. 
(9) They Who Knock at Our Gates. A complete gospel of 
immigration. New York, ro14. 
(10) Washington, Booker T. Up from Slavery. An autobiography. 
New York, root. 
(11) Steiner, Edward A. From Alien to Citizen. The story of my life 
in America. New York, 1914. 
(12) Lewisohn, Ludwig. U p Stream. An American chronicle. New 
York, 1922. 
(13) Stern, Mrs. Elizabeth Gertrude (Levin). My Mother and I. 
New York, rgro. 
(14) DuBois, W. E. Burghardt. Darkwater: Voices from within the 
Veil. New York, 1920. 
(15) The Souls of Black Folk. Essays and sketches. Chicago, 
1903. 
(16) Fee cood, Hutchins. The Spirit of the Ghetto. Studies of the 
Jewish quarter in New York. Rey. ed. New York, 1909. 








, TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Race and Culture, and the Problem of the Relative Superiority and 


Inferiority of Races 


. The Relation of Assimilation to Amalgamation 

. The Mulatto as a Cultural Type 

. Language as a Means of Assimilation and a Basis of National Solidarity 
. History and Literature as Means for Preserving National Solidarity 
. Race Prejudice and Segregation in Their Relations to Assimilation 


and Accommodation 


. Domestic Slavery and the Assimilation of the Negro 
. A Study of Historical Experiments in Denationalization; the Ger- 


manization of Posen, the Russianization of Poland, the Japatiesd Policy 
in Korea, etc. 


. The “ Melting-Pot” versus “Hyphen” in Their Relation to Americani- 


zation 
A Study of Policies, Programs, and Experiments in Americanization 


_ from the Standpoint of Sociology 


II. 
HEP 


The Immigrant Community as a Means of Americanization 

The Process of Assimilation as Revealed in Personal Documents, as 
Antin, The Promised Land; Rihbany, A Far Journey; Ravage, An 
American in the Making; ete. 


13. 
14. 


Tm 


mW DH 


Io. 
[I. 


r2: 
133 


14. 
te, 


16. 


17. 
. Is there a difference between Americanization and Prussianization ? 


ASSIMILATION 783 


Foreign Missions and Native Cultures 
The Role of Assimilation and Accommodation in the Personal Develop- 
ment of the Individual Man 
Assimilation and Accommodation in Their Relations to the Educational 
Process 

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand Simons to mean by the term “assimilation” ? 
. What is the difference between amalgamation and assimilation ? 

. How are assimilation and amalgamation interrelated ? 

. What do you consider to be the difference between Trotter’s explana- 


tion of human evolution and that of Crile? 


. What do you understand Trotter to mean by the gregarious instinct 


as a mechanism controlling conduct ? 


. Of what significance is the distinction made by Trotter between (a) the 


three individual instincts, and (d) the gregarious instincts ? 


. What is the significance of material and non-material cultural elements 


for the study of race contact and intermixture? 


. How do you explain the difference in rapidity of assimilation of the 


various types of cultural elements ? 


. What factors promoted and impeded the extension of Roman culture 


in Gaul? 

What social factors were involved in the origin of the French language ? 
To what extent does the extension of a cultural language involve 
assimilation ? 

In what sense do the cultural languages compete with each other ? 

Do you agree with the prediction that within a century English will 
be the vernacular of a quarter of the people of the world? Justify your 
position. | 

Does Park’s definition of assimilation differ from that of Simons? 
What do you understand Park to mean when he says, ‘‘Sociai institu- 
tions are not founded in similarities any more than they are founded 
in differences, but in relations, and in the mutual interdependence of 
the parts”? What is the relation of this principle to the process of 
assimilation ? | 
What do you understand to be the difference between the type of 
assimilation (a) that makes for group solidarity and corporate action, 
and (6) that makes for formal like-mindedness? What conditions 
favor the one or the other type of assimilation ? 

What do you understand by the term “‘Americanization” ? 


784 


1g 


20. 
21. 


22. 


23. 
24. 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


With what programs of Americanization are you familiar? Are they 
adequate from the standpoint of the sociological interpretation of 
assimilation ? 

In what way is language both a means and a product of assimilation ? 
What is meant by the phrases “‘apperception mass,” “universes of 
discourse,” and “‘definitions of the situations”? What is their signifi- 
cance for assimilation ? 

In what way does assimilation involve the mediation of individual 
differences ? 

Does the segregation of immigrants make for or against assimilation ? 
In what ways do primary and secondary contacts, imitation and sug- 
gestion, competition, conflict and accommodation, enter into the 
process of assimilation ? 





CHAPTER XII 


SOCIAL CONTROL 


T. INTRODUCTION 
1. Social Control Defined 


Social control has been studied, but, in the wide extension that 
sociology has given to the term, it has not been defined. All social 
problems turn out finally to be problems of social control. In the 
introductory chapter to this volume social problems were divided 
into three classes: Problems (a) of administration, (6) of policy and 
polity, (c) of social forces and human nature.’ Social control may be 
studied in each one of these categories. It is with social forces and 
human nature that sociology is mainly concerned. ‘Therefore it is 
from this point of view that social control will be considered in this 
chapter. 

In the four preceding chapters the process of interaction, in its 
four typical forms, competition, conflict, accommodation, and assimila- 
tion, has been analyzed and described. The community and the 
natural order within the limits of the community, it appeared, are 
an effect of competition. Social control and the mutual subordination 
of individual members to the community have their origin in conflict, 
assume definite organized forms in the process of accommodation, and 
are consolidated and fixed in assimilation. 

Through the, medium of these processes, a community _ assumes 
the form of a society. Incidentally, however, certain definite and 
quite spontaneous forms of social control are developed. ‘These 
forms are familiar under various titles: tradition, ‘custom, folkways, _ 
mores, ceremonial, myth, religious and. SeINiGa’T beliefs. , dogmas and 
creeds, and finally public opinion and law. In this chapter it is 
pfocoseiuedenne a little more accurately certain of these typical 
.mechanisms through which social groups are enabled to act. In the 
chapter on “Collective Behavior” which follows, materials will be 
presented to exhibit the group in action. 


t Chap. i, pp. 46-47. 
785 


786 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It is in action that the mechanisms of control are created, and the 
materials under the title ‘‘Collective Behavior” are intended to 
illustrate the stages, (a) social unrest, (6) mass movements, (c) insti- 
tutions in which society is formed and reformed. Finally, in the 
chapter on “Progress,’’ the relation of social change to social control 
will be discussed and the réle of science and collective representations 
in the direction of social changes indicated. 

The most obvious fact about social control is the machinery by 
which laws are made and enforced, that is, the legislature, the courts, 
and the police. When we think of social control, therefore, these 
are the images in which we see it embodied and these are the terms in 
which we seek to define it. 

It is not quite so obvious that legislation and the police must, 
in the long run, have the support of public opinion. Hume’s state- 
ment that governments, even the most despotic, have nothing but 
Opinion to support them, cannot be accepted without some definition 
of terms, but it is essentially correct. Hume included under opinion 
what we would distinguish from it, namely, the mores. He might 
have added, using opinion in this broad sense, that the governed, no 
matter how numerous, are helpless unless they too are united by 
“opinion.” . ; ‘ 

A king or a political ‘‘boss,” having an army or a political ‘‘ma- 
chine” at his command, can do much. It is possible, also, to confuse 
or mislead public opinion, but neither the king nor the boss will, if 
he be wise, challenge the mores and the common sense of the 
community. 

Public opinion and the mores, however, representing as they do 
the responses of the community to changing situations, are themselves 
subject to change and variation. ‘They are based, however, upon what 

-we-have called fundamenta] human nature, that is, certain traits 
_which in some form or other are reproduced in every form of society. 


During the past seventy years the various tribes, races, and nationali- 
ties of mankind have been examined in detail by the students of ethnology, 
and a comparison of the results shows that the fundamental patterns of 
life and behavior are everywhere the same, whether among the ancient 
Greeks, the modern Italians, the Asiatic Mongols, the Australian blacks, 
or the African Hottentots. All have a form of family life, moral and legal 
regulations, a religious system, a form of government, artistic practices, 


ee 


SOCIAL CONTROL 787 


and so forth. An examination of the moral code of any given group, say 
the African Kaffirs, will disclose many identities with that of any other 
given group, say the Hebrews: All groups have such ‘‘commandments”’ 

s ‘Honor thy father and mother,” “Thou shalt not kill,” “Thou shalt 
not steal.” Formerly it was assumed that this similarity was the result 
of borrowing between groups. When Bastian recorded a Hawaiian myth 
resembling the one of Orpheus and Eurydice, there was speculation as to 
how this story had been carried so far from Greece. But it is now recog- 
nized that similarities of culture are due, in the main, not to imitation, but 
to parallel development. The nature of man is everywhere essentially 
the same and tends to express itself everywhere in similar sentiments and 
institutions.* 


There are factors in social control more fundamental than the 
mores. Herbert Spencer, in his chapter on ‘‘Ceremonial Govern- 
ment,” has defined social control from this more fundamental point 
of view. In that chapter he refers to “‘the modified forms of action 
caused in men by the presence of their fellows” as a form of control 
“out of which other more definite controls are evolved? The 
spontaneous responses of one individual to the presence of another 
which are finally fixed, conventionalized, and transmitted as social 
ritual constitute that “primitive undifferentiated kind of government 
from which political and religious government are ditterentiated, and 
in which they continue immersed.” 

In putting this emphasis upon ceremonial and upon those forms 
of behavior which spring directly and spontaneously out of the innate 
and instinctive responses of the individual to a social situation, 
Spencer is basing government on the springs of action which are 
fundamental, so far, at any rate, as sociology is concerned. 


2. Classification of the Materials 


The selections on social control have been classified under three 
heads: (a) elementary forms of social control, (6) public opinion, 
and (c) institutions. ‘This order of the readings indicates the develop- 
ment of control from its spontaneous forms in the crowd, in ceremony, 
prestige, and taboo; its more explicit expression in gossip, rumor, 
news, and public opinion; to its more formai organization in law, 


t Robert E. Park and Herbert A. Miller, Old World Traits Transplanted, 
pp. 1-2. (New York, 1921.) 


788 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


dogma, and in religious and political institutions. Ceremonial, 
public opinion, and law are characteristic forms in which ‘social life 
finds expression as well as a means by which the actions of the indi- 
vidual are co-ordinated and collective impulses are organized so that 
they issue in behavior, that is, either (a) primarily seaaphaes \lcrrrrels 8 
for example—or (0) positive action. 

A very much larger part of all human behavior than we ordinarily 
imagine is merely expressive. Art, play, religious exercises, and 
political activity are either wholly or almost wholly forms of expres- 
sion, and have, therefore, that symbolic and ceremonial character 
which belongs especially to ritual and to art, but is characteristic 
of every activity carried on for its own sake. Only work, action 
which has some ulterior motive or is performed from a conscious 
sense of duty, falls wholly and without reservation into the second 
class/ 

a) Elementary forms of social control—Control in the crowd, 
where gapport is once established and every individual is immediately —v 
responsive to every other, is the most elementary form of control. 

Something like this same direct and spontaneous response of the 
individual in the crowd to the crowd’s dominant mood or impulse 
may be seen in the herd and the flock, the ‘‘animal crowd.”’ 

Under the influence of the vague sense of-alarm, or merely as an 
effect of heat and thirst, cattle become restless and begin slowly mov- 
ing about in circles, “milling.” This milling is a sort of collective 
gesture, an expression of discomfort or of fear. But the very expres- 
sion of the unrest tends to intensify its expression and so increases the 
tension in the herd. This continues up to the point where some 
sudden sound, the firing of a pistol or a flash of lightning, plunges 
the herd into a wild stampede. 

Milling in the herd is a visible i image of what goes on in subtler 
and less obvious ways in human societies. Alarms or discomforts 
frequently provoke social unrest. The very expression of this unrest 
tends to magnify it. ‘The situation isa vicious circle. Every attempt 
to deal with it merely serves to aggravate it. Such a vicious circle 
we witnessed in our history from 1830 to 1861, when every attempt 
to deal with slavery served only to bring the inevitable conflict 
between the states nearer. Finally there transpired what had for 
twenty years been visibly preparing and the war broke. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 789 


Tolstoi in his great historical romance, War and Peace, describes, 
in a manner which no historian has equaled, the events that led up 
to the Franco-Russian War of 1812, and particularly the manner in 
which Napoleon, in spite of his efforts to avoid it, was driven by social 
forces over which he had no control to declare war on Russia, and so 
bring about his own downfall. 

The condition under which France was forced by Bismarck to 
declare war on Prussia in 1870, and the circumstances under which 
Austria declared war on Serbia in 1914 and so brought on the world- 
war, exhibit the same fatal circle. In both cases, given the situation, 
the preparations that had been made, the resolutions formed and the 
agreements entered into, it seems clear that after a certain point 
had been reached every move was forced. 

This is the most fundamental and elementary form of control. 
It is the control exercised by the mere play of elemental forces. These 
forces may, to a certain extent, be manipulated, as is true of other 
natural forces; but within certain limits, human nature being what 
it is, the issue is fatally determined, just as, given the circumstances 
and the nature of cattle, a stampede is inevitable. Historical crises 
are invariably created by processes which, looked at abstractly, are very 
much like milling in a herd. The vicious circle is the so-called 
“psychological factor” in financial depressions and panics and is, 
indeed, a factor in all collective action. 

The effect of this circular form of interaction is to increase the 
tensions in the group and, by creating a state of expectancy, 
to mobilize its members for collective action. It is like atten- 
tion in the individual: it is the way in which the group prepares 
to act. 

Back of every other form of control—ceremonial, public opinion, 
or law—there is always this interaction of the elementary social 
forces. What we ordinarily mean by social control, however, is the 
arbitrary intervention of some individual—official, functionary, or 
leader—in the social process. A policeman arrests a criminal, an 
attorney sways the jury with his eloquence, the judge passes sentence; 
these are the familiar formal acts in which social control manifests 
itself. What makes the control exercised in this way social, in the 
strict sense of that term, is the fact that these acts are supported by 
custom, law, and public opinion. 


790 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The distinction between control in the crowd and in other forms 
of society is that the crowd has no tradition. It has no point of 
reference in its own past to which its members can refer for guidance. 
It has therefore neither symbols, ceremonies, rites, nor ritual; it 
imposes no obligations and creates no loyalties. 

Ceremonial is one method of reviving in the group a lively sense 
of the past. It-is a method of reinstating the excitements and the 
sentiments which inspired an earlier collective action. The savage 
war dance is a dramatic representation of battle and as such serves 
to rouse and reawaken the warlike spirit. ‘This is one way in which 
ceremonial becomes a means of control. By reviving the memories 
of an earlier war, it mobilizes the warriors for a new one. 

Ernst Grosse, in The Beginnings of Art, has stated succinctly 
what has impressed all first-hand observers, namely, the important 
role which the dance plays in the lives of primitive peoples. 


The dances of the hunting peoples are, as a rule, mass dances. Gener- 
ally the men of the tribe, not rarely the members of several tribes, join in 
the exercises, and the whole assemblage then moves according to one law 
in one time. All who have described the dances have referred again and 
again to this “wonderful” unison of the movements. In the heat of the dance 
the several participants are fused together as into a single being, which 
is stirred and moved as by one feeling.” During the dance they are in a 
condition of complete social unification, and the dancing group feels and 
acts like a single organism. The social significance of the primitive dance 
lies precisely in this effect of social unification. It brings and accustoms 
a number of men who, in their loose and precarious conditions of life, are 
driven irregularly hither and thither by different individual needs and 
desires, to act under one impulse with one feeling for one object. It 
introduces order and connection, at least occasionally, into the rambling, 
fluctuating life of the hunting tribes. It is, besides wars, perhaps the only 
factor that makes their solidarity vitally perceptible to the adherents of a 
primitive tribe, and it is at the same time one of the best preparations for 
war, for the gymnastic dances correspond in more than one respect to our 
military exercises. It would be hard to overestimate the importance of 
the primitive dance in the culture development of mankind. All higher 
civilization is conditioned upon the uniformly ordered co-operation of 
individual social elements, and primitive men are trained to this co-operation 
by the dance. 


: Ernst Grosse, The Beginnings of Art, pp. 228-29. (New York, 1897.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 791 


The dance, which is so characteristic and so universal a feature 
of the life of primitive man—at once a mode of collective expression 
and of collective representation—is but a conventionalized form of 
the circular reaction, which in its most primitive form is represented 
by the milling of the herd. 

b) Public opinion.—We ordinarily think of public opinion as a 
sort of social weather. At certain times, and under certain circum- 
stances, we observe strong, steady currents of opinion, moving 
apparently in a definite direction and toward a definite goal. At 
other times, however, we note flurries and eddies and countercurrents 
in this movement. Every now and then there are storms, shifts, 
or dead calms. ‘These sudden shifts in public opinion, when expressed 
in terms of votes, are referred to by the politicians as “landslides.” 

In all these movements, cross-currents and changes in direction 
which a closer observation of public opinion reveals, it is always 
possible to discern, but on a much grander scale, to be sure, that 
same type of circular reaction which we have found elsewhere, when- 
ever the group was preparing to act. Always in the public, as in 
the crowd, there will be a circle, sometimes wider, sometimes narrower, 
within which individuals are mutually responsive to motives and 
interests of one another, so that out of this interplay of social forces 
there may emerge at any time a common motive and a common 
purpose that will dominate the whole. 

Within the circle of the mutual influence described, there will be 
no such complete rapport and no such complete domination of the 
individual by the group as exists in a herd or a crowd in a state of 
excitement, but there will be sufficient community of interest to 
insure a common understanding. A public is, in fact, organized on 
the basis of a universe of discourse, and within the limits of this 
universe of discourse, language, statements of fact, news will have, 
for all practical purposes, the same meanings. It is this circle of 
mutual influence within which there is a universe of discourse that 
defines the limits of the public. 

A public, like a crowd, 1s not to be conceived as a formal organiza- 
tion like a parliament or even a public meeting. It is always the 
widest area over which there is conscious participation and consensus 
in the formation of public opinion. The public has not only a circum- 
ference, but it has a center. Within the area within which there is 


792 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


participation and consensus there is always a focus of attention around 
which the opinions of the individuals which compose the public seem 
to revolve. ‘This focus of attention, under ordinary circumstances, is 
constantly shifting. ‘The shifts of attention of the public constitute 
what is meant by the changes in public opinion. When these changes 
take a definite direction and have or seem to have a definite goal, 
we call the phenomenon a social movement. If it were possible to plot 
this movement in the form of maps and graphs, it would be possible 
to show movement in two dimensions. ‘There would be, for example, 
a movement in space. ‘The focus of public opinion, the point namely 
at which there is the greatest ‘“‘intensity”’ of opinion, tends to move 
from one part of the country to another.t In America these move- 
ments, for reasons that could perhaps be explained historically, are 
likely to be along the meridians, east and west, rather than north 
and south. In the course of this geographical movement of public 
opinion, however, we are likely to observe changes in intensity and 
changes in direction (devagation). 


Changes in intensity seem to be in direct proportion to the area over 
which opinion on a given issue may be said to exist. In minorities opinion 
is uniformly more intense than it is in majorities and this is what gives 
minorities so much greater influence in proportion to their numbers than 
majorities. While changes in intensity have a definite relation to the area 
over which public opinion on an issue may be said to exist, the devagations 
of public opinion, as distinguished from the trend, will probably turn out 
to have a direct relation to the character of the parties that participate. 
Area as applied to public opinion will have to be measured eventually in 
terms of social rather than geographical distance, that is to say, in terms of 
isolation and contact. The factor of numbers is also involved in any such 
calculation. Geographical area, communication, and the number of persons 
involved are in general the factors that would determine the concept 
“area”? as it is used here. If party spirit is strong the general direction 
or trend of public opinion will probably be intersected by shifts and 
sudden transient changes in direction, and these shifts will be in proportion 
to the intensity of the party spirit. Charles E. Merriam’s recent study of 
political parties indicates that the minority parties formulate most of the 
legislation in the United States.2 This is because there is not very great 


t See A. L. Lowell, Public Opinion and Popular Government, pp. 12-13. (New 
York, 1913.) 
2 The American Party System, chap. viii. (New York, 1922.) [In press.] 


> oe eae 


SOCIAL CONTROL 793 


divergence in the policies of the two great parties and party struggles are 
fought out on irrelevant issues. So far as this is true it insures against 
any sudden change in policy. New legislation is adopted in response to 
the trend of public opinion, rather than in response to the devagations and 
sudden shifts brought about by the development of a radical party spirit. 


All these phenomena may be observed, for example, in the Pro- 
hibition Movement. Dicey’s study of Law and Public Opinion in 
England showed that while the direction of opinion in regard to 
specific issues had been very irregular, on the whole the movement 
had been in one general direction. The trend of public opinion is 
the name we give to this general movement. In defining the trend, 
shifts, cross-currents, and flurries are not considered. When we 
speak of the tendency or direction of public opinion we usually 
mean the trend over a definite period of time. 

When the focus of public attention ceases to move and shift, 
when it is fixed, the circle which defines the limits of the public is 
narrowed. As the circle narrows, opinion itself becomes more intense 
and concentrated. This is the phenomenon of crisis. It is at this 
point that the herd stampedes. 

The effect of crisis is invariably to increase the dangers of precipi- 
tate action. ‘The most trivial incident, in such periods of tension, may 
plunge a community into irretrievable disaster. It is under condi- 
tions of crisis that dictatorships are at once possible and necessary, 
not merely to enable the community to act energetically, but in order 
to protect the community from the mere play of external forces. 
The manner in which Bismarck, by a slight modification of the famous 
telegram of Ems, provoked a crisis in France and compelled Napoleon 
III, against his judgment and that of his advisers, to declare war on 
Germany, is an illustration of this danger.* 


™“On the afternoon of July 13, Bismarck, Roon, and Moltke were seated 
together in the Chancellor’s Room at Berlin. They were depressed and moody; 
for Prince Leopold’s renunciation had been trumpeted in Paris as a humiliation 
for Prussia. They were afraid, too, that King William’s conciliatory temper 
might lead him to make further concessions, and that the careful preparations of 
Prussia for the inevitable war with France might be wasted, and a unique oppor- 
tunity lost. A telegram arrived. It was from the king at Ems, and described 
his interview that morning with the French ambassador. The king had met 
Benedetti’s request for the guarantee required by a firm but courteous refusal; 
and when the ambassador had sought to renew the interview, he had sent a polite 


794 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It is this narrowing of the area over which a definite public opinion 
may be said to exist that at once creates the possibility and defines 
the limits of arbitrary control, so far as it is created or determined 
by the existence of public opinion. 

Thus far the public has been described almost wholly in terms 
that could be applied to a crowd. The public has been frequently 
described as if it were simply a great crowd, a crowd scattered as 
widely as news will circulate and still be news. But there is this 
difference. In the heat and excitement of the crowd, as in the choral 
dances of primitive people, there is for the moment what may be 
described as complete fusion of the social forces. Rapport has, for 
the time being, made the crowd, in a peculiarly intimate way, a social 
unit. 

No such unity exists in the public. The sentiment and tendencies 
which we call public opinion are never unqualified expressions of 
emotion. The difference is that public opinion is determined by conflict 
and discussion, and made up of the opinions of individuals not wholly 
at one. In any conflict situation, where party spirit is aroused, the 
spectators, who constitute the public, are bound to take sides. The 


message through his aide-de-camp informing him that the subject must be 
considered closed. In conclusion, Bismarck was authorized to publish the message 
if he saw fit. The Chancellor at once saw his opportunity. In the royal despatch, 
though the main incidents were clear enough, there was still a note of doubt, of 
hesitancy, which suggested a possibility of further negotiation. The excision of a 
few lines would alter, not indeed the general sense, but certainly the whole tone of 
the message. Bismarck, turning to Moltke, asked him if he were ready for a sudden 
risk of war; and on his answering in the affirmative, took a blue pencil and drew 
it quickly through several parts of the telegram. Without the alteration or 
addition of a single word, the message, instead of appearing a mere ‘fragment of a 
negotiation still pending,’ was thus made to appear decisive. In the actual temper 
of the French people there was no doubt that it would not only appear decisive, 
but insulting, and that its publication would mean war. 

“On July 14 the publication of the ‘Ems telegram’ became known in Paris, 
with the result that Bismarck had expected. The majority of the Cabinet, hitherto 
in favour of peace, were swept away by the popular tide; and Napoleon himself 
reluctantly yielded to the importunity of his ministers and of the Empress, who 
saw in a successful war the best, if not the only, chance of preserving the throne 
for her son. On the evening of the same day, July 14, the declaration of war was 
signed”’—W. Alison Phillips, Modern Europe, 1815-1899, pp. 465-66. (Lon- 
don, 1903.) 

1G. Tarde, L’opinion et la foule. (Paris, 1901.) 





SOCIAL CONTROL 708 


impulse to take sides is, in fact, in direct proportion to the excitement 
and party spirit displayed. ‘The result is, however, that both sides 
of an issue get considered. Certain contentions are rejected because 
they will not stand criticism. Public opinion formed in this way has 
the character of a judgment, rather than a mere unmeditated expres- 
sion of emotion, as in the crowd. ‘The public is never ecstatic. It is 
always more or less rational. It is this fact of conflict, in the form 
of discussion, that introduces into the contro! exercised by public 
opinion the elements of rationality and of fact. 

In the final judgment of the public upon a conflict or an issue, 
we expect, to be sure, some sort of unanimity of judgment, but in 
the general consensus there will be some individual differences of 
opinion still unmediated, or only partially so, and final agreement of 
the public will be more or less qualified by all the different opinions 
that co-operated to form its judgment. 

In the materials which follow a distinction is made between 
public opinion and the mores, and this distinction is important. 
Custom and the folkways, like habit in the individual, may be regarded 
as a mere residuum of past practices. When folkways assume the 

character of mores, they are no longer merely matters of fact and 
common sense, they are judgments upon matters which were prob- 
ably once live issues and as such they may be regarded as the 
products of public opinion. 

Ritual, religious or social, is probably the crystallization of forms 
of behavior which, like the choral dance, are the direct expression 
of the emotions and the instincts. The mores, on the other hand, in 
so far as they contain a rational element, are the accumulation, the 
residuum, not only of past practices, but of judgments such as find 
expression in public opinion. The mores, as thus conceived, are the 
judgments of public opinion in regard to issues that have been settled 
and forgotten. 

L. T. Hobhouse, in his volume, Morals in Evolution, has described, 
in a convincing way, the process by which, as he conceives it, custom 
is modified and grows under the influence of the personal judgments 
of individuals and of the public. Public opinion, as he defines it, is 
simply the combined and sublimated judgments of individuals. . 

Most of these judgments are, to be sure, merely the repetition 
of old formulas. But occasionally, when the subiect of discussion 


796 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


touches us more deeply, when it touches upon some matter in which 
we have had a deeper and more intimate experience, the ordinary 
patter that passes as public opinion is dissipated and we originate a 
moral judgment that not only differs from, but is in conflict with, 
the prevailing opinion. In that case “we become, as it were, centers 
from which judgments of one kind or another radiate and from which 
they pass forth to fill the atmosphere of opinion and take their place 
among the influences that mould the judgments of men.” 

The manner in which public opinion issues from the interaction 
of individuals, and moral judgments are formed that eventually 
become the basis of law, may be gathered from the way in which 
the process goes on in the daily life about us. 


No sooner has the judgment escaped us—a winged word from our 
own lips—than it impinges on the judgment similarly flying forth to do its 
work from our next-door neighbor, and if the subject is an exciting one the 
air is soon full of the winged forces clashing, deflecting or reinforcing one 
another as the case may be, and generally settling down toward some 
preponderating opinion which is society’s judgment on the case. But in 
the course of the conflict many of the original judgments are modified. 
Discussion, further consideration, above all, the mere influence of our 
neighbour’s opinion reacts on each of us, with a stress that is proportioned 
to various mental and moral characteristics of our own, our clearness of 
vision, our firmness, or, perhaps, obstinacy of character, our self-confidence, 
and so forth. Thus, the controversy will tend to leave its mark, small 
or great, on those who took part in it. It will tend to modify their modes 
of judgment, confirming one, perhaps, in his former ways, shaping the 
confidence of another, opening the eyes of a third. Similarly, it will tend 
to set a precedent for future judgments. It will affect what men say and 
think on the next question that turns up. It adds its weight, of one grain 
it may be, to some force that is turning the scale of opinion and preparing 
society for some new departure. In any case, we have here in miniature 
at work every day before our eyes the essential process by which moral 
judgments arise and grow.' 


c) Institutions.—An institution, according to Sumner, consists of 
a concept anda structure. The concept defines the purpose, interest, 
or function of the institution. The structure embodies the idea of 
the institution and furnishes the instrumentalities through which the 


tL. T. Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution, A Study in Comparative Ethics, 
pp. 13-14. (New York, ror15.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 797 


idea is put into action. The process by which purposes, whether 
they are individual or collective, are embodied in structures is a 
continuous one. But the structures thus formed are not physical, 
at least not entirely so. Structure, in the sense that Sumner uses 
the term, belongs, as he says, to a category of its own. “It is a 
category in which custom produces continuity, coherence, and 
consistency, so that the word ‘Structure’ m may properly be applied 
tothe fabric of relations and prescribed positions with which func- 
tions are permanently connected.” Just as every individual member 
of a community participates in the process by which custom and 
public opinion are made, so also he participates in the creation of the 
structure, that “cake of custom” which, when it embodies a definite 
social function, we call an institution. 

ate ar icijncs may be created just as laws are enacted, but only 
when a social situation exists to which they correspond will they 
become operative and effective. Institutions, like laws, rest upon the 
mores and are supported by public opinion. Otherwise they remain 
mere paper projects or artefacts that perform no real function. 
History records the efforts of conquering peoples to impose upon the 
conquered their own laws and institutions. The efforts are instruc- 
tive, but not encouraging. ‘The most striking modern instance is the 
effort of King Leopold of Belgium to introduce civilization into the 
Congo Free State.t 

Law, like public opinion, owes its rational and secular character 
to the fact that it arose out of an effort to compromise conflict and 
to interpret matters which were in dispute. 

To seek vengeance for a wrong committed was a natural impulse, 
and the recognition of this fact in custom established it not merely 
as a right but as a duty. War, the modern form of trial by battle, 
the vendetta, and the duel are examples that have survived down to 
modern times of this natural and primitive method of settling disputes. 

In all these forms of conflict custom and the mores have tended 
to limit the issues and define the conditions under which disputes 
might be settled by force. At the same time public opinion, in 
passing judgment on the issues, exercised a positive influence on the 
outcome of the struggle. 


FE. D. Morel, King Leopold’s Rule in Africa. (London, 1904.) 


798 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Gradually, as men realized the losses which conflicts incurred, 
the community has intervened to prevent them. At a time when the 
blood feud was still sanctioned by the mores, cities of refuge and 
sanctuaries were established to which one who had incurred a blood 
feud might flee until his case could be investigated. If it then 
appeared that the wrong committed had been unintentional or if 
there were other mitigating circumstances, he might find in the 
sanctuary protection. Otherwise, if a crime had been committed in 
cold blood, ‘‘lying in wait,” or “in enmity,” as the ancient Jewish 
law books called it, he might be put to death by the avenger of blood, 
‘““when he meeteth him.’ 

Thus, gradually, the principle became established that the com- 
munity might intervene, not merely to insure that vengeance was 
executed in due form, but to determine the facts, and thus courts 
which determined by legal process the guilt or innocence of the accused 
were established. , 

It does not appear that courts of justice were ever set up within 
the kinship group for the trial of offenses, although efforts were made 
there first of all, by the elders and the headmen, to compromise 
quarrels and compose differences. 

Courts first came into existence, the evidence indicates, when 
society was organized over wider areas and after some authority 
had been established outside of the local community. As society 
was organized over a wider territory, control was extended to ever 
wider areas of human life until we have at present a program for 
international courts with power to intervene between nations to 
prevent wars.” 

Society, like the individual man, moves and acts under the 
influence of a multitude of minor impulses and tendencies which 
mutually interact to produce a more general tendency which then 
dominates all the individuals of the group. This explains the fact 
that a group, even a mere casual collection of individuals like a crowd, 
is enabled to act more or less as a unit. .The crowd acts under the 
influence of such a dominant tendency, unreflectively, without 


tL. T. Hobhouse, op. cit., p. 85. } 

‘The whole process of evolution by which a moral order has been established 
over ever wider areas of social life has been sketched in a masterly manner by 
Hobhouse in his chapter, ‘‘Law and Justice,” op. cit., pp. 72-131. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 799 


definite reference to a past or a future. The crowd has no past 
and no future. The public introduces into this vortex of impulses 
the factor of reflection. The public presupposes the existence of a 
common impulse such as manifests itself in the crowd, but it pre- 
supposes, also, the existence of individuals and groups of individuals 
representing divergent tendencies. These individuals interact upon 
one another critically. The public is, what the crowd is not, a dis- 
cussion group. ‘The very existence of discussion presupposes object- 
ive standards of truth and of fact. The action of the public is 
based on a universe of discourse in which things, although they may 
and do have for every individual somewhat different value, are 
describable at any rate in terms that mean the same to all indi- 
viduals. The public, in other words, moves in an objective and 


care 

Law is based on custom. Custom is grgup habit. As the group 
acts it creates custom. ‘There is implicit in cust6m a conception and 
a rule of action, which is regarded as right and proper in the cir- 
cumstances. Law makes this rule of action explicit. Law grows up, 
however, out of a distinction between this rule of action and the facts. 
Custom is bound up with the facts under which the custom grew up. 
Law is the result of an effort to frame the rule of action implicit in ~ 
custom in such general terms that it can be made to apply to new 
situations, involving new sets of facts. This distinction between 
the law and the facts did not exist in primitive society. ‘The evolution 
of law and jurisprudence has been in the direction of an increasingly 
clearer recognition of this distinction between law and the facts. 
This has meant in practice an increasing recognition by the courts of 
the facts, and a disposition to act in accordance with them. ‘The 
present disposition of courts, as, for example, the juvenile courts, 
to call to their assistance experts to examine the mental condition of 
children who are brought before them and to secure the assistance of | 
juvenile-court officers to advise and assist them in the enforcement 
of the law, is an illustration of an increasing disposition to take account 
of the facts. 

The increasing interest in the natural history of the law and of 
legal institutions, and the increasing disposition to interpret it in 
sociological terms, from the point of view of its function, is another 
evidence of the same tendency. 


800 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


II. MATERIALS 


A. ELEMENTARY FORMS OF SOCIAL CONTROL 


1. Control in the Crowd and the Public? 


In August, 1914, I was a cowboy on a ranch in the interior of 
British Columbia. How good a cowboy I would not undertake to 
say, because if there were any errands off the ranch the foreman 
seemed better able to spare me for them than anyone else in the outfit. 

One ambition, and one only, possessed me in those days. And 
it was not to own the ranch! Allin the world I wanted was to accu- 
mulate money enough to carry me to San Francisco when the Panama 
exposition opened in the autumn. After that I didn’t care. It 
would be time enough to worry about another job when I had seen 
the fair. 

Ordinarily I was riding the range five days in the week. Satur- 
days I was sent on a 35-mile round trip for the mail. It was the 
most delightful day of them all for me. ‘The trail lay down the valley 
of the Fraser and although I had been riding it for months it still 
wove a spell over me that never could be broken. Slipping rapidly 
by as though escaping to the sea from the grasp of the hills that 
hemmed it in on all sides, the river always fascinated me. It was 
new every time I reached its edge. 

An early Saturday morning in August found me jogging slowly 
along the trail to Dog Creek. Dog Creek was our post-office and 
tradihg-center. This morning, however, my mind was less on the 
beauties of the Fraser than on the Dog Creek hotel. Every week I 
had my dinner there before starting in mid-afternoon on my return 
to the ranch, and this day had succeeded one of misunderstanding 
with “‘Cookie”’ wherein all the boys of our outfit had come off second- 
best. I was hungry and that dinner at the hotel was going to taste 
mighty good. Out there on the range we had heard rumors of a war 
in Europe. We all talked it over in the evening and decided it was 
another one of those fights that were always starting in the Balkans. 
One had just been finished a few months before and we thought it was 
about time another was under way, so we gave the matter no particular 
thought. But when I got within sight of Dog Creek I knew some- 


* From Lieutenant Joseph S. Smith, Over There and Back, pp. 9-22. (E. P. 
Dutton & Co., 1917.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 801 


thing was up. The first thing I heard was that somebody had 
retreated from Mons and that the Germans were chasing them. So, 
the Germans were fighting anyway. Then a big Indian came up to 
me as I was getting off my pony and told me England’s big white 
chief was going to war, or had gone, he wasn’t certain which, but he 
was going too. Would I? 

Tlaughed at him. “What do you mean, go to war ?” I asked him. 

I wasn’t English; I wasn’t Canadian. I was from the good old 
U.S.A. and from all we could understand the States were neutral. 
So, I reasoned, I ought to be neutral too, and I went in to see what 
there might be to eat. 

There was plenty of excitement in the dining-room. Under its 
influence I began to look at the thing in a different light. While I 
was an alien, I had lived in Canada. I had enjoyed her hospitality. 
Much of my education was acquired in a Canadian school. Cana- 
dians were among my dearest friends. Some of these very fellows, 
there in Dog Creek, were ‘‘going down”’ to enlist. 

All the afternoon we argued about it. Politics, economics, 
diplomacy; none of them entered into the question. In fact we 
hadn’t the faintest idea what the war was all about. Our discussion 
hinged solely on what we, personally, ought to do. England was at 
war. She had sent out a call to all the Empire for men; for help. 
Dog Creek heard and was going to answer that call. Even if I were 
an alien I had been in that district for more than a year and I owed 
it to Dog Creek and the district to join up with the rest. By that 
time I wanted to go. I was crazy to go! It would be great to see 
London and maybe Paris and some of the other famous old towns— 
if the war lasted long enough for us to get over there. I began to 
bubble over with enthusiasm, just thinking about it. So I made an 
appointment with some of the boys for the next evening, rode back 
to the ranch and threw the mail and my job at the foreman. 

A week later we were in Vancouver. Then things began to get 
plainer—to some of the fellows. We heard of broken treaties, 
“scraps of paper,” ‘‘Kultur,” the rights of nations, big and small, 
“freedom of the seas,” and other phrases that meant less than nothing 
to most of us. It was enough for me, then, that the country which 
had given me the protection of its laws wanted to help England. I 
trusted the government to know what it was doing. Before we were 


802 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in town an hour we found ourselves at a recruiting office. By the 
simple expedient of moving my birthplace a few hundred miles north 
I became a Canadian and a member of the expeditionary force—a 
big word with a big meaning. Christmas came and I was in a well- 
trained battalion of troops with no more knowledge of the war than 
the retreat from Mons, the battles of the Marne and the Aisne, and 
an occasional newspaper report of the capture of a hundred thousand 
troops here and a couple of hundred thousand casualties somewhere 
else. We knew, at that rate, it couldn’t possibly last until we got 
to the other side, but we prayed loudly that it would. In April we 
heard of the gassing of the first Canadians at Ypres. Then the 
casualty lists from that field arrived and hit Vancouver with a thud. 
Instantly a change came over the city. Before that day, war had 
been a romance, a thing far away about which to read and over which 
to wave flags. It was intangible, impersonal. It was the same 
attitude the States exhibited in the autumn of ’17._ Then suddenly 
it became real. ‘This chap and that chap; a neighbor boy, a fellow 
from the next block or the next desk. Dead! Gassed! This was 
war; direct, personal, where you could count the toll among your 
friends. Personally, I thought that what the Germans had done was 
a terrible thing and I wondered what kind of people they might be 
that they could, without warning, deliver such a foul blow. Ina 
prize ring the Kaiser would have lost the decision then and there. 
We wondered about gas and discussed it by the hour in our barracks. 
Some of us, bigger fools than the rest, insisted that the German nation 
would repudiate its army. But days went by and nothing of the kind 
occurred. It was then I began to take my soldiering a little more 
seriously. Ifa nation wanted to win a war so badly that it would 
damn its good name forever by using means ruled by all humanity as 
beyond the bounds of civilized warfare, it must have a very big 
object in view. And I started—late it is true—to obtain some clue 
to those objects. 

May found us at our port of embarkation for the voyage to 
England. The news of the “Lusitania” came over the wires and 
that evening our convoy steamed. For the first time, I believe, I 
fully realized I was a soldier in the greatest war of all the ages. 

Between poker, “‘blackjack,” and “crown and anchor” with the 
crew, we talked over the two big things that had happened in our 


SOCIAL CONTROL 803 


soldier lives—gas and the “‘Lusitania.”” And to these we later added 
liquid fire. 

Our arguments, our logic, may have been elemental, but I insist 
they struck at the root. I may sum them up thus: Germany was 
not using the methods of fighting that could be countenanced by a 
civilized nation. As the nation stood behind its army in all this 
barbarism, there must be something inherently lacking in it despite 
its wonderful music, its divine poetry, its record in the sciences. It, 
too, must be barbarian at heart. We agreed that if it should win 
this war it would be very uncomfortable to belong to one of the allied 
nations, or even to live in the world at all, since it was certain German 
manners and German methods would not improve with victory. And 
we, as a battalion, were ready to take our places in France to back up 
our words with deeds. 

A week or so later we landed in England. A marked change had 
come over the men since the day we left Halifax. Then most of us 
regarded the whole war, or our part in it, as more or less of a lark. 
On landing we were still for a lark, but something else had come into 
our consciousness. We were soldiers fighting for a cause—a cause 
clear cut and well defined—the saving of the world from a militarily 
mad country without a conscience. At our camp in England we saw 
those boys of the first division who had stood in their trenches in 
front of Ypres one bright April morning and watched with great 
curiosity a peculiar looking bank of fog roll toward them from the 
enemy’s line. It rolled into their trenches, and in a second those 
men were choking and gasping for breath. Their lungs filled with 
the rotten stuff, and they were dying by dozens in the most terrible 
agony, beating off even as they died a part of the “brave” Prussian 
army as it came up behind those gas clouds; came up with gas masks 
on and bayonets dripping with the blood of men lying on the ground 
fighting, true, but for breath. A great army, that Prussian army! 
And what a ‘“‘glorious” victory! Truly should the Hun be proud! 
So far as I am concerned, Germany did not lose the war at the battle 
of the Marne, at the Aisne, or at the Yser. She lost it there at Ypres, 
on April 22, 1915. It is no exaggeration when I say our eagerness to 
work, to complete our training, to learn how to kill, so we could take 
our places in the line, and help fight off those mad people, grew by 
the hour. They stiffened our backs and made us fighting mad. We 


804 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


saw what they had done to our boys from Canada; they and their 
gas. ‘The effect on our battalion was the effect on the whole army, 
and, I am quite sure, on the rest of the world. ‘They put themselves 
beyond the pale. They compelled the world to look on them as mad ~ 
dogs, and to treat them as mad dogs. We trained in England until 
August, when we went to France. To all outward appearances we 
were still happy, carefree soldiers, all out for a good time. We were 
happy! We were happy we were there, and down deep there was 
solid satisfaction, not on account of the different-colored books that 
were issuing from every chancellory in Europe, but from a feeling 
rooted in white men’s hearts, backed by the knowledge of Germany’s 
conduct, that we were there in a righteous cause. Our second stop 
in our march toward the line was a little village which had been 
occupied by the Boches in their mad dash toward Paris. Our billet 
was a farm just on the edge of the village. The housewife permitted 
us in her kitchen to do our cooking, at the same time selling us coffee. 
We stayed there two or three days and became quite friendly with 
her, even if she did scold us for our muddy boots. ‘Two pretty little 
kiddies played around the house, got in the way, were scolded and 
spanked and in the next instant loved to death by Madame. Then 
she would parade them before a picture of a clean-cut looking French- 
man in the uniform of the army, and say something about “‘aprés la 
guerre.”’ In a little crib to one side of the room was a tiny baby, 
neglected by Madame, except that she bathed and fed it. The 
neglect was so pronounced that our curiosity was aroused. ‘The ex- 
planation came through the estaminet gossip, and later from Madame 
herself. A Hun captain of cavalry had stayed there a few days in 
August, ’14, and not only had he allowed his detachment full license 
in the village, but had abused his position in the house in the accus- 
tomed manner of his bestial class. As Madame told us her story; 
how her husband had rushed off to his unit with the first call for 
reserves, leaving her alone with two children, and how the blond 
beast had come, our fists clenched and we boiled with rage. ‘That is 
German war! but it is not all. What will be the stories that come 
out of what is now occupied France? This Frenchwoman’s story 
was new to us then, but, like other things in the war, as we moved 
through the country it became common enough, with here and there 
a revolting detail more horrible than anything we had heard before. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 805 


Now and then Germany expresses astonishment at the persistence 
of the British and the French. They are a funny people, the Ger- 
mans. There are so many things they do not, perhaps cannot, 
understand. They never could understand why Americans, such as 
myself, who enlisted in a spirit of adventure, and with not a single 
thought on the justice of the cause, could experience such a marked 
change of feeling as to regard this conflict as the most holy crusade 
in which a man could engage. It is a holy crusade! Never in the 
history of the world was the cause of right more certainly on the side 
of an army than it is today on the side of the allies: We who have 
been through the furnace of France know this. I only say what 
every other American who has been fighting under an alien flag said 
when our country came in: “Thank God we have done it. Some 
boy, Wilson, believe me!” 


2. Ceremonial Control! 


If, disregarding conduct that is entirely private, we consider only 
that species of conduct which involves direct relations with other 
persons; and if under the name government we include all control of 
conduct, however arising; then we must say that the earliest kind of 
government, the most general kind of government, and the govern- 
ment which is ever spontaneously recommencing, is the govern- 
ment of ceremonial observance. ‘This kind of government, besides 
preceding other kinds, and besides having in all places and times 
approached nearer to universality of influence, has ever had, and con- 
tinues to have, the largest share in regulating men’s lives. 

Proof that the modifications of conduct called “manners” and 
“behavior” arise before those which political and religious restraints 
cause is yielded by the fact that, besides preceding social evolution, 
they precede human evolution: they are traceable among the higher 
animals. The dog afraid of being beaten comes crawling up to his 
master clearly manifesting the desire to show submission. Nor is 
it solely to human beings that dogs use such propitiatory actions. 
They do the like one to another. All have occasionally seen how, 
on the approach of some formidable Newfoundland or mastiff, a small 
spaniel, in the extremity of its terror, throws itself on its back with 


*From Herbert Spencer, The Principles of Sociology, II, 3-6. (Williams & 
Norgate, 1893.) 








806 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


legs in the air. Clearly then, besides certain modes of behavior 
expressing affection, which are established still earlier in creatures 
lower than man, there are established certain modes of behavior 
expressing subjection. 

After recognizing this fact, we shall be prepared to recognize the 
fact that daily intercourse among the lowest savages, whose small 
loose groups, scarcely to be called social, are without political or 
religious regulation, is under a considerable amount of ceremonial 
regulation. No ruling agency beyond that arising from personal 
superiority characterizes a horde of Australians; but every such 
horde has imperative observances. Strangers meeting must remain 
some time silent; a mile from an encampment approach has to be 
heralded by loud cooeys; a green bough is used as an emblem of peace; 
and brotherly feeling is indicated by exchange of names. Ceremonial 
control is highly developed in many places where other forms of 
control are but rudimentary. The wild Comanche “exacts the ob- 
servance of his rules of etiquette from strangers,” and “is greatly 
offended” by any breach of them. When Araucanians meet, the in- 
quiries, felicitations, and condolences which custom demands are so 
elaborate that ‘‘the formality occupies ten or fifteen minutes.” 

That ceremonial restraint, preceding other forms of restraint, 
continues ever to be the most widely diffused form of restraint we 
are shown by such facts as that in all intercourse between members 
of each society, the decisively governmental actions are usually 
prefaced by this government of observances. The embassy may 
fail, negotiation may be brought to a close by war, coercion of one 
society by another may set up wider political rule with its peremptory 
commands; but there is habitually this more general and vague 
regulation of conduct preceding the more special and definite. So 
within a community acts of relatively stringent control coming from 
ruling agencies, civil and religious, begin with and are qualified by this 
ceremonial control which not only initiates but in a sense envelops 
all other. Functionaries, ecclesiastical and political, coercive as their 
proceedings may be, conform them in large measure to the require- 
ments of courtesy. The priest, however arrogant his assumption, 
makes a civil salute; and the officer of the law performs his duty 
subject to certain propitiatory words and movements. 

Yet another indication of primordialism may be named. This 
species of control establishes itself anew with every fresh relation 





SOCIAL CONTROL 807 


among individuals. Even between intimates greetings signifying 
continuance of respect begin each renewal of intercourse. And in the 
presence of a stranger, say in a railway carriage, a certain self-restraint, 
joined with some small act like the offer of a newspaper, shows the 
spontaneous rise of a propitiatory behavior such as even the rudest of 
mankind are not without. So that the modified forms of action caused 
in men by the presence of their fellows constitute that comparatively 
vague control out of which other more definite controls are evolved— 
the primitive undifferentiated kind of government from which the 
political and religious governments are differentiated, and in which 
they ever continue immersed. 


3. Prestige’ 


Originally presttge—here, too, etymology proves to be an enfant 
terrible—means delusion. It is derived from the Latin praestigiae 
(-arum)—though it is found in the forms praestigia (-ae) and praestigium 
(-77) too: the juggler himself (dice-player, rope-walker, ‘‘strong 
man,” etc.) was called praestigiator (-oris). Latin authors and 
mediaeval writers of glossaries took the word to mean “deceptive 
juggling tricks,”’ and, as far as we know, did not use it in its present 
signification. The praestigiator threw dice or put coins on a table, 
then passed them into a small vessel or box, moved the latter about 
quickly and adroitly, till finally, when you thought they were in a 
certain place, the coins turned up somewhere else: ‘‘‘The looker-on is 
deceived by such innocent tricks, being often inclined to presume the 
sleight of hand to be nothing more or less than magic art.” 

The practice of French writers in the oldest times was, so far as 
we have been able to discover, to use the word prestige at first in 
the signification above assigned to the Latin “‘praestigiae”’ (prestige, 
prestigiateur, -trice, prestigieux). The use of the word was not 
restricted to the prestige of prophets, conjurers, demons, but was 
transferred by analogy to delusions the cause of which is not regarded 
any longer as supernatural. Diderot actually makes mention of the 
prestige of harmony. The word “prestige” became transfigured, 
ennobled, and writers and orators refined it so as to make it applicable 
to analogies of the remotest character. Rousseau refers to the pres- 
tige of our passions, which dazzles the intellect and deceives wisdom. 


t Adapted from Lewis Leopold, Prestige, pp. 16-62. (T. Fisher Unwin, 1913.) 





808 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Prestige is the name continually given to every kind of spell, the 
effect of which reminds us of “prestige” (‘‘cet homme exerce une 
influence que rassemble 4 une prestige’’—Litturé), and to all magic 
charms and attractive power which is capable of dulling the intellect 
while it enhances sensation. We may read of the prestige of fame, of 
the power which, in default of prestige, is brute force; in 1869 number- 
less placards proclaimed through the length and breadth of Paris that 
Bourbeau, Minister of Public Instruction, though reputed to be a 
splendid lawyer, “‘lacked prestige’’—‘‘ Bourbeau manque de prestige.” 
The English and German languages make use of the word in the latter 
meaning as opposed to the imaginary virtue of the conjurer; the same 
signification is applied, generally speaking, to the Italian and Spanish 
prestigio, only that the Italian prestigido and the Spanish prestigiador, 
just like the French prestigiateur, have, as opposed to the more recent 
meaning, kept the older significance; neither of them means anything 
more or less than conjurer or juggler. 

The market clown, the rope-walker, the sword-swallower, the 
reciter of long poems, the clever manipulator who defies imitation— 
all possess prestige: but on the other hand, prestige surrounds demonia- 
cal spells, wizardry, and all effectiveness not comprehensible by logic. 

We state something of someone when we say that he possesses 
prestige; but our statement is not clear, and the predicate cannot be 
distinguished from the subject. Of what is analysable, well-known, 
commonplace, or what we succeed in understanding thoroughly, in 
attaining or imitating, we do not say that it possesses prestige. 

What is the relation between prestige and prejudice? When what 
is unintelligible, or mysterious, is at one time received with enthu- 
siasm, at another with indignation, what renders necessary these two 
extreme sentiments of appreciation which, though appearing under 
apparently identical circumstances, are diametrically opposed to 
one another? | 

The most general form of social prejudice is that of race. A 
foreigner is received with prejudice, conception, or prestige. If we 
put “conception” aside, we find prejudice and prestige facing one 
another. We see this split most clearly demonstrated if we observe 
the differences of conduct in the reception of strangers by primitive 
peoples. In Yrj6 Hirn’s Origins of Art we are told that those travel- 
lers who have learned the tongues of savages have often observed that 


SOCIAL CONTROL 809 


their persons were made the subjects of extemporized poems by the 
respective savages. Sometimes these verses are of a derisive char- 
acter; at other times they glorify the white man. When do they 
deride, when glorify ? 

Where strong prejudice values are present, as in the case of 
Negroes, every conception of equality and nationalism incorporated 
in the statute-book is perverted. All that appears permanently 
divergent is made the subject of damnatory prejudice; and the more 
apparent and seeming, the more primitive theimpression that restrains, 
the more general the prejudice; smell affects more keenly than form, 
and form more than mode of thought. If a member of a nation is 
not typical, but exercises an exclusive, personal impression on us, he 
possesses prestige; if he is typical, he is indifferent to us, or we look 
down upon him and consider him comical. To sum up: the stranger 
whom we feel to be divergent as compared with ourselves is indifferent 
or the object of prejudice; the stranger whom we feel ourselves unable 
to measure by our own standard, whose measure—not his qualities— 
we feel to be different, we receive with prestige. We look with 
prejudice on the stranger whom we dissociate, and receive with 
prestige the stranger who is dissociated. 

Even in the animal world we come across individuals consistently 
treated with deference, of which, in his work on the psychical world of 
animals, Perty has plenty to tell us: ‘‘Even in the animal world,” he 
says, ‘‘there are certain eminent individuals, which in comparison with 
the other members of their species show a superiority of capability, 
brain power, and force of will, and obtain a predominance over the 
other animals.”? Cuvier observed the same in the case of a buck which 
had only one horn; Grant tells us of a certain ourang-outang which 
got the upper hand of the rest of the monkeys and often threatened 
them with the stick; from Naumann we hear of a clever crane which 
ruled over all the domestic animals and quickly settled any quarrels 
that arose among them. Far more important than these somewhat 
obscure observations is the peculiar social mechanism of the anima] 
world to be found in the mechanical following of the leaders of flocks 
and herds. But this’ obedience is so conspicuously instinctive, so 
genuine, and so little varying in substance and intensity, that it can. 
hardly be identified with prestige. Bees are strong royalists; but the 
extent to which their selection of a queen is instinctive and strictly 


810 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


exclusive is proved by the fact that the smell of a strange queen 
forced on them makes them hate her; they kill her or torture her— 
though the same working bees prefer to die of hunger rather than 
allow their own queen to starve. 

Things are radically changed when animals are brought face to 
face with man. Some animals sympathize with men, and like to 
take part in their hunting and fighting, as the dog and the horse; 
others subject themselves as a result of force. Consequently men 
have succeeded in domesticating a number of species of animals. It 
is here that we find the first traces, in the animal world, of phenomena, 
reactions of conduct in the course of development, which, to a certain — 
extent, remind us of the reception of prestige. ‘The behaviour of a 
dog, says Darwin, which returns to its master after being absent— 
or the conduct of a monkey, when it returns to its beloved keeper—s 
far different from what these animals display towards beings of the same 
order as themselves. In the latter case the expressions of joy seem to 
be somewhat less demonstrative, and all their actions evince a feeling 
of equality. Even Professor Braubach declares that a dog looks upon 
its master as a divine person. Brehm gives us a description of the 
tender respect shown towards his children by a chimpanzee that had 
been brought to his home and domesticated. ‘‘ When we first intro- 
duced my little six-weeks-old daughter to him,” he says, ‘‘at first he 
regarded the child with evident astonishment, as if desirous to con- 
vince himself of its human character, then touched its face with one 
finger with remarkable gentleness, and amiably offered to shake hands. 
This trifling characteristic, which I observed in the case of all chim- 
panzees reared in my house, is worthy of particular emphasis, because 
it seems to prove that our man-monkey descries and pays homage to 
that higher being, man, even in the tiniest child. On the other hand, he 
by no means shows any such friendly feelings towards creatures like 
himself—not even towards little ones.” 

In every stage of the development of savage peoples we come 
across Classical examples of mock kings—of the ‘‘ primus inter pares,”’ 
“duces ex virtute,” ot “ex nobilitate reges’’—of rational and valued 
leaders. The savages of Chile elect as their chief the man who is 
able to carry the trunk of a tree farthest. In other places, military 
prowess, command of words, crafts, a knowledge of spells are the 
causal sources of the usually extremely trifling homage due to the 


SOCIAL CONTROL 811 


chieftain. ‘Savage hordes in the lowest stage of civilization are 
organized, like troops of monkeys, on the basis of authority. The 
strongest old male by virtue of his strength acquires a certain ascend- 
ancy, which lasts as long as his physical strength is superior to that of 
every other male... .). . 

Beyond that given by nature, primitive society recognizes no 
other prestige, for the society of savages lacks the subjective condi- 
tions of prestige—settlement in large numbers and permanency. The 
lack of distance compels the savage to respect only persons who hold 
their own in his presence: this conspicuous clearness of the estimation 
of primitive peoples is the cause that has prevailed on us to dwell so 
long on this point. ‘That the cause of this want of prestige among 
savages is the lack of concentration in masses, not any esoteric peculi- 
arity, is proved by the profound psychological appreciation of the 
distances created by nature, and still more by the expansion of tribal 
life into a barbarian one. ‘The tenfold increase of the number of a 
tribe renders difficult a logical, ethical, or aesthetic selection of a 
leader, as well as an intuitive control of spells and superstitions. 

The dramatic mise en scéne of human prestige coincides with the 
first appearance of this concentration in masses, and triumphs with 
its triumph. 


4. Prestige and Status in South East Africa’ 


In no other land under the British flag, except, perhaps, in the 
Far East, certainly in none of the great self-governing colonies with 
which we rank ourselves, is the position of white man qua white man 
so high, his status so impugnable, as in South East Africa. Differing 
in much else, the race instinct binds the whites together to demand 
recognition as a member of the ruling and inviolable caste, even for 
the poorest, the degraded of their race. And this position connotes 
freedom from all manual and menial toil; without hesitation the 
white man demands this freedom, without question the black man 
accedes and takes up the burden, obeying the race command of one 
who may be his personal inferior. It is difficult to convey to one who 
has never known this distinction the way in which the very atmosphere 
is charged with it in South East Africa. A white oligarchy, every 


t Adapted from Maurice S. Evans, Black and White in South East Africa, 
pp. 15-35. (Longmans, Green & Co., 1911.) 


312 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


member of the race an aristocrat; a black proletariat, every member 
of the race a server; the line of cleavage as clear and deep as the 
colours. The less able and vigorous of our race, thus protected, find 
here an ease, a comfort, a recognition to which their personal worth 
would never entitle them in a homogeneous white population. 

When uncontaminated by contact with the lower forms of our 
civilization, the native is courteous and polite. Even to-day, changed 
for the worse as he is declared to be by most authorities, a European 
could ride or walk alone, unarmed even with a switch, all through the 
locations of Natal and Zululand, scores of miles away from the house 
of any white man, and receive nothing but courteous deference from 
the natives. If he met, as he certainly would, troops of young men, 
dressed in all their barbaric finery, going to wedding or dance, armed 
with sticks and shields, full of hot young blood, they would still 
stand out of the narrow path, giving to the white man the right of 
way and saluting as he passed. I have thus travelled alone all over 
South East Africa, among thousands of blacks and never a white man 
near, and I cannot remember the natives, even if met in scores or 
hundreds, ever disputing the way for a moment. All over Africa, 
winding and zigzagging over hill and dale, over grassland and through 
forest, from kraal to kraal, and tribe to tribe, go the paths of the 
natives. In these narrow paths worn in the grass by the feet of the 
passers, you could travel from Natal to Benguela and back again to 
Mombasa. Only wide enough for one to travel thereon, if opposite 
parties meet one must give way; cheerfully, courteously, without 
cringing, often with respectful salute, does the native stand on one 
side allowing the white man to pass. One accepts it without thought; 
it is the expected, but if pondered upon it is suggestive of much. 


5. Taboo! 


Rules of holiness in the sense just explained, i.e., a system of 
restrictions on man’s arbitrary use of natural things, enforced by the 
dread of supernatural penalties, are found among all primitive peoples. 
It is convenient to have a distinct name for this primitive institution, 
to mark it off from the later developments of the idea of holiness in 
advanced religions, and for this purpose the Polynesian term “taboo” 


t From W. Robertson Smith, The Religion of the Semites, pp. 152-447. (Adam 
and Charles Black, 1907.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 813 


has been selected. The field covered by taboos among savage and 
half-savage races is very wide, for there is no part of life in which the 
savage does not feel himself to be surrounded by mysterious agencies 
and recognise the need of walking warily. Moreover all taboos do 
not belong to religion proper, that is, they are not always rules of 
conduct for the regulation of man’s contact with deities that, when 
taken in the right way, may be counted on as friendly, but rather 
appear in many cases to be precautions against the approach of 
malignant enemics—against contact with evil spirits and the like. 
Thus alongside of taboos that exactly correspond to rules of holiness, 
protecting the inviolability of idols and sanctuaries, priest and chiefs, 
and generally of all persons and things pertaining to the gods and 
their worship, we find another kind of taboo which in the Semitic 
field has its parallel in rules of uncleanness. Women after child- 
birth, men who have touched a dead body, and so forth, are tempo- 
rarily taboo and separated from human society, just as the same 
persons are unclean in Semitic religion. In these cases the person 
under taboo is not regarded as holy, for he is separated from approach 
to the sanctuary as well as from contact with men; but his act or 
condition is somehow associated with supernatural dangers, arising, 
according to the common savage explanation, from the presence of 
formidable spirits which are shunned like an infectious disease. In 
most savage societies no sharp line seems to be drawn between the 
two kinds of taboo just indicated, and even in more advanced nations 
the notions of holiness and uncleanness often touch. Among the 
Syrians, for example, swine’s flesh was taboo, but it was an open 
question whether this was because the animal was holy or because 
it was unclean. But though not precise, the distinction between 
what is holy and what is unclean is real; in rules of holiness the motive 
is respect for the gods, in rules of uncleanliness it is primarily fear of 
an unknown or hostile power, though ultimately, as we see in the 
Levitical legislation, the law of clean and unclean may be brought 
within the sphere of divine ordinances, on the view that unclean- 
ness is hateful to God and must be avoided by all that have to do 
with Him. 

The fact that all the Semites have rules of uncleanness as well as 
rules of holiness, that the boundary between the two is often vague, 
and that the former as well as the latter present the most startling 


814 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


agreement in point of detail with savage taboos, leaves no reasonable 
doubt as to the origin and ultimate relations of the idea of holiness. 
On the other hand, the fact that the Semites—or at least the northern 
Semites—distinguish between the holy and the unclean, marks a real 
advance above savagery. All taboos are inspired by awe of the 
supernatural, but there is a great moral difference between precautions 
against the invasion of mysterious hostile powers and precautions 
founded on respect for the prerogative of a friendly god. The former 
belong to magical superstition—the barrenest of all aberrations of 
the savage imagination—which, being founded only on fear, acts 
merely as a bar to progress and an impediment to the free use of 
nature by human energy and industry. But the restrictions on 
individual licence which are due to respect for a known and friendly 
power allied to man, however trivial and absurd they may appear to 
us in their details, contain within them germinant principles of social 
progress and moral order. To know that one has the mysterious 
powers of nature on one’s side so long as one acts in conformity with 
certain rules, gives a man strength and courage to pursue the task of 
the subjugation of nature to his service. To restrain one’s individual 
licence, not out of slavish fear, but from respect for a higher and 
beneficent power, is a moral discipline of which the value does not 
altogether depend on the reasonableness of sacred restrictions; an 
English schoolboy is subject to many unreasonable taboos, which are 
not without value in the formation of character. But finally, and 
above all, the very association of the idea of holiness with a beneficent 
deity, whose own interests are bound up with the interests of a com- 
munity, makes it inevitable that the laws of social and moral order, 
as well as mere external precepts of physical observance, shall be 
placed under the sanction of the god of the community. Breaches of 
social order are recognised as offences against the holiness of the 
deity, and the development of law and morals is made possible, at a 
stage when human sanctions are still wanting, or too imperfectly 
administered to have much power, by the belief that the restrictions 
on human licence which are necessary to social well-being are condi- 
tions imposed by the god for the maintenance of a good understanding 
between himself and his worshippers. 

Various parallels between savage taboos and Semitic rules of 
holiness and uncleanness will come before us from time to time; but 


SOCIAL CONTROL 815 


it may be useful to bring together at this point some detailed evidences 
that the two are in their origin indistinguishable. 

Holy and unclean things have this in common, that in both cases 
certain restrictions lie on men’s use of and contact with them, and 
that the breach of these restrictions involves supernatural dangers. 
The difference between the two appears, not in their relation to man’s 
ordinary life, but in their relation to the gods. Holy things are not 
free to man, because they pertain to the gods; uncleanness is shunned, 
according to the view taken in the higher Semitic religions, because it 
is hateful to the god, and therefore not to be tolerated in his sanctuary, 
his worshippers, or hisland. But that this explanation is not primitive 
can hardly be doubted when we consider that the acts that cause 
uncleanness are exactly the same which among savage nations place 
a man under taboo, and that these acts are often involuntary, and 
often innocent, or even necessary to society. The savage, accord- 
ingly, imposes a taboo on a woman in childbed, or during her courses, 
and on the man who touches a corpse, not out of any regard for the 
gods, but simply because birth and everything connected with the 
propagation of the species on the one hand, and disease and death on 
the other, seem to him to involve the action of superhuman agencies 
of a dangerous kind. If he attempts to explain, he does so by suppos- 
ing that on these occasions spirits of deadly power are present; at all 
events the persons involved seem to him to be sources of mysterious 
danger, which has all the characters of an infection and may extend 
to other people unless due precautions are observed. ‘This is not 
scientific, but it is perfectly intelligible, and forms the basis of a 
consistent system of practice; whereas, when the rules of uncleanness 
are made to rest on the will of the gods, they appear altogether 
arbitrary and meaningless. ‘The affinity of such taboos with laws of 
uncleanness comes out most clearly when we observe that uncleanness 
is treated like a contagion, which has to be washed away or otherwise 
eliminated by physical means. ‘Take the rules about the uncleanness 
produced by the carcases of vermin in Lev. 11:32 ff.; whatever they 
touch must be washed; the water itself is then unclean, and can 
propagate the contagion; nay, if the defilement affect an (unglazed) 
earthen pot, it is supposed to sink into the pores, and cannot be 
washed out, so that the pot must be broken. Rules like this have 
nothing in common with the spirit of Hebrew religion; they can 


816 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


only be remains of a primitive superstition, like that of the savage 
who shuns the blood of uncleanness, and such like things, as a super- 
natural and deadly virus. The antiquity of the Hebrew taboos, for 
such they are, is shown by the way in which many of them reappear 
in Arabia; cf. for example Deut. 21:12, 13, with the Arabian cere- 
monies for removing the impurity of widowhood. In the Arabian 
form the ritual is of purely savage type; the danger to life that made 
it unsafe for a man to marry the woman was transferred in the most 
materialistic way to an animal, which it was believed generally died 
in consequence, or to a bird. 


B. PUBLIC OPINION 
1. The Myth! 


There is no process by which the future can be predicted scien- 
tifically, nor even one which enables us to discuss whether one hypothe- 
sis about it is better than another; it has been proved by too many 
memorable examples that the greatest men have committed prodigious 
errors in thus desiring to make predictions about even the least 
distant future. 

And yet, without leaving the present, without reasoning about 
this future, which seems forever condemned to escape our reason, we 
should be unable to act at all. Experience shows that the framing of 
a future, in some indeterminate time, may, when it is done in a cer- 
tain way, be very effective, and have very few inconveniences; this 
happens when the anticipations of the future take the form of those 
myths, which enclose with them all the strongest inclinations of a 
people, of a party, or of a class, inclinations which recur to the mind 
with the insistence of instincts in all the circumstances of life; and 
which give an aspect of complete reality to the hopes of immediate 
action by which, more easily than by any other method, men can 
reform their desires, passions, and mental activity. We know, more- 
over, that these social myths in no way prevent a man profiting by 
the observations which he makes in the course of his life, and form no 
obstacle to the pursuit of his normal occupations. 

The truth of this may be shown by numerous examples. 


*From Georges Sorel, Reflections on Violence, pp. 133-37. (B. W. Huebsch, 
IQI2.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 817 


The first Christians expected the return of Christ and the total 
ruin of the pagan world, with the inauguration of the kingdom of the 
saints, at the end of the first generation. The catastrophe did not 
come to pass, but Christian thought profited so greatly from the 
apocalyptic myth that certain contemporary scholars maintain that 
the whole preaching of Christ referred solely to this one point. The 
hopes which Luther and Calvin had formed of the religious exaltation 
of Europe were by no means realised; these fathers of the Reformation 
very soon seemed men of a past era; for present-day Protestants they 
belong rather to the Middle Ages than to modern times, and the 
problems which troubled them most occupy very little place in 
contemporary Protestantism. Must we for that reason deny the 
immense result which came from their dreams of Christian renova- 
tion? It must be admitted that the real developments of the Revo- 
lution did not in any way resemble the enchanting pictures which 
created the enthusiasm of its first adepts; but without those pictures, 
- would the Revolution have been victorious? Many Utopias were 
mixed up with the Revolutionary myth, because it had been formed 
by a society passionately fond of imaginative literature, full of confi- 
‘dence in the “‘science,” and very little acquainted with the economic 
history of the past. These Utopias came to nothing; but it may be 
_ asked whether the Revolution was not a much more profound trans- 
formation than those dreamed of by the people who in the eighteenth 
century had invented social Utopias. In our own times Mazzini 
pursued what the wiseacres of his time called a mad chimera; but it 
can no longer be denied that, without Mazzini, Italy would never 
have become a great power, and that he did more for Italian unity 
than Cavour and all the politicians of his school. 

A knowledge of what the myths contain in the way of details 
which will actually form part of the history of the future is then of 
small importance; they are not astrological almanacs; it is even 
possible that nothing which they contain will ever come to pass—as 
was the case with the catastrophe expected by the first Christians. 
In our own daily life, are we not familiar with the fact that what 
actually happens is very different from our preconceived notion of it ? 
And that does not prevent us from continuing to make resolutions. 
Psychologists say that there is heterogeneity between the ends in 
view and the ends actually realised: the slightest experience of life 


818 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


reveals this law to us, which Spencer transferred into nature, to 
extract therefrom his theory of the multiplication of effects.’ 

The myth must be judged as a means of acting on the present; 
any attempt to discuss how far it can be taken literally as future 
history is devoid of sense. It ts the myth in tts entirety which is alone 
important: its parts are only of interest in so far as they bring out 
the main idea. No useful purpose is served, therefore, in arguing 
about the incidents which may occur in the course of a social war, 
and about the decisive conflicts which may give victory to the prole- 
tariat; even supposing the revolutionaries to have been wholly and 
entirely deluded in setting up this imaginary picture of the general 
strike, this picture may yet have been, in the course of the preparation 
for the revolution, a great element of strength, if it has embraced all 
the aspirations of socialism, and if it has given to the whole body 
of revolutionary thought a precision and a rigidity which no other 
method of thought could have given. 

To estimate, then, the significance of the idea of the general 
strike, all the methods of discussion which are current among poli- 
ticians, sociologists, or people with pretensions to political science, 
must be abandoned. Everything which its opponents endeavour to: 
establish may be conceded to them, without reducing in any way 
the value of the theory which they think they have refuted. The 
question whether the general strike is a partial reality, or only a 
product of popular imagination, is of little importance. All that it 
is necessary to know is, whether the general strike contains everything 
that the socialist doctrine expects of the revolutionary proletariat. 

To solve this question, we are no longer compelled to argue 
learnedly about the future; we are not obliged to indulge in lofty 
reflections about philosophy, history, or economics; we are not on 
the plane of theories, and we can remain on the level of observable 
facts. We have to question men who take a very active part in the 
real revolutionary movement amidst the proletariat, men who do not 
aspire to climb into the middle class and whose mind is not dominated 
by corporative prejudices, These men may be deceived about an 
infinite number of political, economical, or moral questions; but their 
testimony is decisive, sovereign, and irrefutable when it is a question 
of knowing what are the ideas which most powerfully move them and 
their comrades, which most appeal to them as being identical with 


SOCIAL CONTROL 819 


their socialistic conceptions, and thanks to which their reason, their 
hopes, and their way of looking at particular facts seem to make but 
one indivisible unity. 

Thanks to these men, we know that the general strike is indeed 
what I have said: the myth in which socialism is wholly comprised, 
i.e., a body of images capable of evoking instinctively all the senti- - 
ments which correspond to the different manifestations of the war 
undertaken by socialism against modern society. Strikes have 
engendered in the proletariat the noblest, deepest, and most moving 
sentiments that they possess; the general strike groups them all in a 
co-ordinated picture, and, by bringing them together, gives to each 
one of them its maximum of intensity; appealing to their painful 
memories of particular conflicts, it colours with an intense life all the 
details of the composition presented to consciousness. We thus 
obtain that intuition of socialism which language cannot give us 
with perfect clearness—and we obtain it as a whole, perceived 
instantaneously. 

2. The Growth of a Legend’ 


Hardly had the German armies entered Belgium when strange 
rumors began to circulate. They spread from place to place, they 
were reproduced by the press, and they soon permeated the whole 
of Germany. It was said that the Belgian people, instigated by the 
clergy, had intervened perfidiously in the hostilities; had attacked 
by surprise isolated detachments; had indicated to the enemy the 
positions occupied by the troops; that women, old men, and even 
children had been guilty of horrible atrocities upon wounded and 
defenseless German soldiers, tearing out their eyes and cutting off 
fingers, nose, or ears; that the priests from their pulpits had exhorted 
the people to commit these crimes, promising them as a reward the 
Kingdom of Heaven, and had even taken the lead in this barbarity. 

Public credulity accepted these stories. The highest powers in 
the state welcomed them without hesitation and indorsed them with 
their authority. Even the Emperor echoed them, and, taking them 
for a text, advanced, in the famous telegram of September 8, 1o14, 
addressed to the President of the United States, the most terrible 
accusations against the Belgian people and clergy. 


t Adapted from Fernand van Langenhove, The Growth of a Legend, pp. 5-275. 
(G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1916.) 


820 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


At the time of the invasion of Belgium, it was the German army 
which, as we have seen, constituted the chief breeding ground for 
legendary stories. These were disseminated with great rapidity 
among the troops; the liaison officers, the dispatch riders, the food 
convoys, the victualling posts assured the diffusion of them. 

These stories were not delayed in reaching Germany: As in 
most wars, it was the returning soldiery who were responsible for 
the transmission of them. 

From the first day of hostilities in enemy territory the fighting 
troops were in constant touch with those behind them. ‘Through the 
frontier towns there was a continual passage of convoys, returning 


empty or loaded with prisoners and wounded. ‘These last, together 


with the escorting soldiers, were immediately surrounded and pressed 
for news by an eager crowd. It is they who brought the first stories. 


As a silent listener, seated on the boulevards, I have noticed how 
curious people, men and women, question the wounded who are resting 
there, suggesting to them answers to inquiries on the subject of the battles, 
the losses, and the atrocities of war; how they interpret silence as an 
affirmative answer and how they wish to have confirmed things always 
more terrible. JI am convinced that shortly afterward they will repeat the 
conversation, adding that they have heard it as the personal experience of 
somebody present at the affair. 


In their oral form stories of this kind are not definite, their sub- 
stance is malleable; they can be modified according to the taste of 
the narrator; they transform themselves; they evolve. To sum up, 
not only do the soldiers, returned from the field of battle, insure the 
transmission of the stories, they also elaborate them. 


The military post links the campaigning army directly with” 


Germany. ‘The soldiers write home, and in their letters they tell of 
their adventures, which people are eager to hear, and naturally they 
include the rumors current among the troops. Thus a soldier of the 
Landsturm writes to his wife that he has seen at Liége a dozen priests 
condemned to death because they put a price on the heads of German 
soldiers; he had also seen there civilians who had cut off the breasts 
of a Red Cross nurse. Again, a Hessian schoolmaster tells in a 
letter how his detachment had been treacherously attacked at Ch—— 
by the inhabitants, with the curé at their head. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 821 


Submitted to the test of the German military inquiry these stories 
are shown to be without foundation. Received from the front and 
narrated by a soldier who professes to have been an eyewitness, they 
are nevertheless clothed in the public view with special authority. 

Welcomed without control by the press, the stories recounted in 
letters from the front appear, however, in the eyes of the readers of 
a paper clothed with a new authority—that which attaches to printed 
matter. They lose in the columns of a paper their individual and 
particular character. Those who send them have, as the Kélnische 
Volkszeitung notes, usually effaced all personal allusions. The state- 
ments thus obtain a substance and an objectivity of which they would 
otherwise be devoid. Mixed with authentic news, they are accepted 
by the public without mistrust. Is not their appearance in the paper 
a guaranty of accuracy ? 

Besides imposing itself on public credulity, the printed story 
fixes itself in the mind. It takes a lasting form. It has entered 
permanently into consciousness, and more, it has become a source of 
reference. 

All these pseudo-historical publications are, however, only one 
aspect of the abundant literary production of the Great War. Aill 
the varieties of popular literature, the romances of cloak and sword, 
the stories of adventure, the collections of news and anecdotes, the 
theater itself, are in turn devoted to military events. The great 
public loves lively activity, extraordinary situations, and sensational 
circumstances calculated to strike the imagination and cause a shiver 
of horror. 

So one finds in this literature of the lower classes the principal 
legendary episodes of which we have studied the origin and followed 
the development; accommodated to a fiction, woven into a web of 
intrigue, they have undergone new transformations; they have lost 
every indication of their source; they are transposed in the new 
circumstances imagined for them; they have usually been dissociated 
from the circumstances which individualize them and fix their time 
and place. The thematic motives from which they spring neverthe- 
less remain clearly recognizable. 

The legendary stories have thus attained the last stage of their 
elaboration and completed their diffusion. They have penetrated 
not only into the purlieus of the cities but into distant countries; 


822 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


into centers of education as among the popular classes. Wounded 
convalescents and soldiers on leave at home for a time have told 
them to the city man and to the peasant. Both have found them in 
letters from the front; both have read them in journals and books, 
both have listened to the warnings of the government and to the 
imperial word. The schoolteacher has mixed these episodes with 
his teaching; he has nourished with them infantile imaginations. 
Scholars have read the text of them in their classbooks and have 
enacted them in the games inspired by the war; they have told them 
at home in the family circle, giving them the authority attached to 
the master’s word. 

Everywhere these accounts have been the subject of ardent 
commentaries; in the village, in the councils held upon doorsteps, 
and in the barrooms of inns; in the big cafés, the trams, and the 
public promenades of towns. Everywhere they have become an 
ordinary topic of conversation, everywhere they have met with ready 
credence. The term franc tireur has become familiar. Its use is 
general and its acceptance widespread. 

A collection of prayers for the use of the Catholic German soldiers 
includes this incredible text: “Shame and malediction on him who 
wishes to act like the Belgian and French, perfidious and cruel, who 
have even attacked defenseless wounded.” 


3. Ritual, Myth, and Dogma’ 


The antique religions had for the most part no creed; they con- 
sisted entirely of institutions and practices. No doubt, men will not 
habitually follow certain practices without attaching a meaning to 
them; but as a rule we find that while the practice was rigorously fixed, 
the meaning attached to it was extremely vague, and the same rite 
was explained by different people in different ways, without any 
question of orthodoxy or heterodoxy arising in consequence. In 
ancient Greece, for example, certain things were done at a temple, 
and people were agreed that it would be impious not to do them. 
But if you had asked why they were done, you would probably have 
had several mutually contradictory explanations from different per- 
sons, and no one would have thought it a matter of the least reli- 


From W. Robertson Smith, The Religion of the Semites, pp. 16-24. (Adam 
and Charles Black, 1907.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 823 


gious importance which of these you chose to adopt. Indeed, the 
explanations offered would not have been of a kind to stir any strong 
feeling; for in most cases they would have been merely different 
stories as to the circumstances under which the rite first came to 
be established, by the command or by the direct example of the 
god. The rite, in short, was connected not with a dogma but with 
a myth. 

In all the antique religions, mythology takes the place of dogma; 
that is, the sacred lore of priests and people, so far as it does not 
consist of mere rules for the performance of religious acts, assumes 
the form of stories about the gods; and these stories afford the only 
explanation that is offered of the precepts of religion and the pre- 
scribed rules of ritual. But, strictly speaking, this mythology was 
no essential part of ancient religion, for it had no sacred sanction and 
no binding force on the worshippers. The myths connected with 
individual sanctuaries and ceremonies were merely part of the appa- 
ratus of the worship; they served to excite the fancy and sustain the 
interest of the worshipper; but he was often offered a choice of several] 
accounts of the same thing, and, provided that he fulfilled the ritual 
with accuracy, no one cared what he believed about its origin. Belief 
in a certain series of myths was neither obligatory as a part of true 
religion, nor was it supposed that, by believing, a man acquired 
religious merit and conciliated the favour of the gods. What was 
obligatory or meritorious was the exact performance of certain sacred 
acts prescribed by religious tradition. ‘This being so, it follows that 
mythology ought not to take the prominent place that is too often 
assigned to it in the scientific study of ancient faiths. So far as 
myths consist of explanations of ritual, their value is altogether 
secondary, and it may be affirmed with confidence that in almost 
every case the myth was derived from the ritual, and not the ritual 
from the myth; for the ritual was fixed and the myth was variable, 
the ritual was obligatory and faith in the myth was at the discretion 
of the worshipper. The conclusion is, that in the study of ancient 
religions we must begin, not with myth, but with rituai and tradi- 
tional usage. 

Nor can it be fairly set against this conclusion, that there are 
certain myths which are not mere explanations of traditional practices, 
but exhibit the beginnings of larger religious speculation, or of an 


824 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


attempt to systematise and reduce to order the motley variety of 
local worships and beliefs. For in this case the secondary character 
of the myths is still more clearly marked. ‘They are either products of 
early philosophy, reflecting on the nature of the universe; or they are 
political in scope, being designed to supply a thread of union between 
the various worships of groups, originally distinct, which have ‘been 
united into one social] or political organism; or, finally, they are due 
to the free play of epic imagination. But philosophy, politics, and 
poetry are something more, or something less, than religion pure 
and simple. 

There can be no doubt that, in the later stages of ancient religions, 
mythology acquired an increased importance. In the struggle of 
heathenism with scepticism on the one hand and Christianity on the 
other, the supporters of the old traditional religions were driven to 
search for ideas of a modern cast, which they could represent as the 
true inner meaning of the traditional rites. To this end they laid 
hold of the old myths, and applied to them an allegorical system of 
interpretation. Myth interpreted by the aid of allegory became the 
favourite means of infusing a new significance into ancient forms. 
But the theories thus developed are the falsest of false guides as to 
the original meaning of the old religions. 

Religion in primitive times was not a system of belief with prac- 
tical applications; it was a body of fixed traditional practices, to 
which every member of society conformed as a matter of course. 
Men would not be men if they agreed to do certain things without 
having a reason for their action; but in ancient religion the reason 
was not first formulated as a doctrine and then expressed in prac- 
tice, but conversely, practice preceded doctrinal theory. Men form 
general rules of conduct before they begin to express general principles 
in words; political institutions are older than political theories, and 
in like manner religious institutions are older than religious theories. 
This analogy is not arbitrarily chosen, for in fact the parallelism in 
ancient society between religious and political institutions is complete. 
In each sphere great importance was attached to form and precedent, 
but the explanation why the precedent was followed consisted merely 
of a legend as to its first establishment. That the precedent, once 
established, was authoritative did not appear to require any proof. 
The rules of society were based on precedent, and the continued 


SOCIAL CONTROL 825 


existence of the society was sufficient reason why a precedent once 
set should continue to be followed. 

I say that the oldest religious and political institutions present a 
close analogy. It would be more correct to say that they were parts 
of one whole of social custom. Religion was a part of the organised 
social life into which a man was born, and to which he conformed 
through life in the same unconscious way in which men fall into any 
habitual practice of the society in which they live. Men took the 
gods and their worship for granted, just as they took the other usages 
of the state for granted, and if they reasoned or speculated about 
them, they did so on the presupposition that the traditional usages 
were fixed things, behind which their reasonings must not go, and 
which no reasoning could be allowed to overturn. To us moderns 
religion is above all a matter of individual conviction and reasoned 
belief, but to the ancients it was a part of the citizen’s public life, 
reduced to fixed forms, which he was not bound to understand and 
_was not at liberty to criticise or to neglect. Religious nonconformity 
was an offence against the state; for if sacred tradition was tampered 
with the bases of society were undermined, and the favour of the 
gods was forfeited. But so long as the prescribed forms were duly 
observed, a man was recognised as truly pious, and no one asked how 
his religion was rooted in his heart or affected his reason. Like politi- 
cal duty, of which indeed it was a part, religion was entirely compre- 
hended in the observance of certain fixed rules of outward conduct. 

From the antique point of view, indeed, the question what the 
gods are in themselves is not a religious but a speculative one; what 
is requisite to religion is a practical acquaintance with the rules on 
which the deity acts and on which he expects his worshippers to 
frame their conduct—what in II Kings 17:26 is called the “manner”’ 
or rather the “customary law” (mishpat) of the god of the land. 
This is true even of the religion of Israel. When the prophets speak 
of the knowledge of God, they always mean a practical knowledge of 
the laws and principles of His government in Israel, and a summary 
expression for religion as a whole is “the knowledge and fear of 
Jehovah,” i.e., the knowledge of what Jehovah prescribes, combined 
with a reverent obedience. . 

The traditional usages of religion had grown up gradually in the 
course of many centuries, and reflected habits of thought characteristic 


826 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of very diverse stages of man’s intellectual and moral development. 
No one conception of the nature of the gods could possibly afford the 
clue to all parts of that motley complex of rites and ceremonies which 
the later paganism had received by inheritance, from a series of 
ancestors in every state of culture from pure savagery upwards. ‘The 
record of the religious thought of mankind, as it is embodied in 
religious institutions, resembles the geological record of the history 
of the earth’s crust; the new and the old are preserved side by side 
or rather layer upon layer. ‘The classification of ritual formations 
in their proper sequence is the first step towards their explanation, 
and that explanation itself must take the form, not of a speculative 
theory, but of a rational life-history. 


4. The Nature of Public Opinion’ 


“Vox populi may be vox Dei, but very little attention shows that 
there has never been any agreement as to what vox means or as to what 
populus means.” In spite of endless discussions about democracy, 
this remark of Sir Henry Maine is still so far true that no other excuse 
is needed for studying the conceptions which lie at the very base of 
popular government. In doing so one must distinguish the form from 
he substance; for the world of politics is full of forms in which the 
spirit is dead—mere shams, but sometimes not recognized as such 
even by the chief actors, sometimes deceiving the outside multitude, 
sometimes no longer misleading anyone. Shams, are, indeed, not 
without value. Political shams have done for English government 
what fictions have done for English law. They have promoted 
growth without revolutionary change. But while shams play an 
important part in political evolution, they are snares for the political 
philosopher who fails to see through them, who ascribes to the forms 
a meaning that they do not really possess. Popular government may 
in substance exist under the form of a monarchy, and an autocratic 
despotism can be set up without destroying the forms of democracy. 
If we look through the forms to observe the vital forces behind them; 
if we fix our attention, not on the procedure, the extent of the fran- 
chise, the machinery of elections, and such outward things, but on 
the essence of the matter, popular government, in one important 


t Adapted from A. Lawrence Lowell, Public Opinion and Popular Government, 
pp. 3-14. (Longmans, Green & Co., 1913.) 





SOCIAL CONTROL 827 


aspect at least, may be said to consist of the control of political 
affairs by public opinion. 

If two highwaymen meet a belated traveler on a dark road and 
propose to relieve him of his watch and wallet, it would clearly be 
an abuse of terms to say that in the assemblage on that lonely spot 
there was a public opinion in favor of a redistribution of property. 
Nor would it make any difference, for this purpose, whether there 
were two highwaymen and one traveler, or one robber and two 
victims. The absurdity in such a case of speaking about the duty 
of the minority to submit to the verdict of public opinion is self- 
evident; and it is not due to the fact that the three men on the road 
form part of a larger community, or that they are subject to the 
jurisdiction of a common government. The expression would be 
quite as inappropriate if no organized state existed; on a savage 
island, for example, where two cannibals were greedy to devour one 
shipwrecked mariner. In short, the three men in each of the cases 
supposed do not form a community that is capable of a public opinion 
on the question involved. May this not be equally true under an 
organized government, among people that are for certain purposes a 
community ? 

To take an illustration nearer home. At the time of the Re- 
construction that followed the American Civil War the question 
whether public opinion in a southern state was or was not in favor of 
extending the suffrage to the Negroes could not in any true sense be 
said to depend on which of the two races had a slight numerical 
majority. One opinion may have been public or general in regard 
to the whites, the other public or general in regard to the Negroes, but 
neither opinion was public or general in regard to the whole popula- 
tion. Examples of this kind could be multiplied indefinitely. They 
can be found in Ireland, in Austria-Hungary, in Turkey, in india, in 
any country where the cleavage of race, religion, or politics is sharp 
and deep enough to cut the community into fragments too far apart 
for an accord on fundamental matters. 

In all these instances an opinion cannot be public or general with 
respect to both elements in the state. For that purpose they are as 
distinct as if they belonged to different commonwealths. You may 
count heads, you may break heads, you may impose uniformity by 
force; but on the matters at stake the two elements do not form a 


w 


= 


828 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


community capable of an opinion that is in any rational sense public 
or general. If we are to employ the term in a sense that is significant 
for government, that imports any obligation moral or political on the © 
part of the minority, surely enough has been said to show that the 
opinion of a mere majority does not by itself ALWAYS suffice. Some- 
thing more is clearly needed. 

But if the opinion of a majority does not of itself constitute a 
public opinion, it is equally certain that unanimity is not required. 
Unanimous opinion is of no importance for our purpose, because it is 
perfectly sure to be effective in any form of government, however 
despotic, and it.is, therefore, of no particular interest in the study of 
democracy. Legislation by unanimity was actually tried in the 
kingdom of Poland, where each member of the assembly had the 
right of liberum vefo on any measure, and it prevented progress, 
fostered violence, and spelled failure. The Polish system has been 
lauded as the acme of liberty, but in fact it was directly opposed to 
the fundamental principle of modern popular government; that is, 
the conduct of public affairs in accord with a public opinion which is 
general, although not universal, and which implies under certain 
conditions a duty on the part of the minority to submit. 

A body of men are politically capable of a public opinion only so 


Y far as they are agreed upon the ends and aims of government and upon 


the principles by which those ends shall be attained. ‘They must be 
united, also, about the means whereby the action of the government 
is to be determined, in a conviction, for example, that the views of a 
majority—or it may be some other portion of their numbers—ought 
to prevail, and a political community as a whole is capable of public 
opinion only when this is true of the great bulk of the citizens. Such 
an assumption was implied, though‘usually not expressed in all 
theories of the social compact; and, indeed, it is involved in all 
theories that base rightful government upon the consent of the 
governed, for the consent required is not a universal approval by all 
the people of every measure enacted, but a consensus in regard to-the 
legitimate character of the ruling authority and its right te decide the 
questions that arise. ° 

One more remark must be made before quitting the subject of the 
relation of public opinion to the opinion of the majority. The late 
Gabriel Tarde, with his habitual keen insight, insisted on the im- 
portance of the intensity of belief as a factor in the spread of opinions. 





SOCIAL CONTROL 829 


There is a common impression that public opinion depends upon 
and is measured by the mere number of persons to be found on eack 
side of a question; but this is far from accurate. If 49 per cent of 
a community feel very strongly on one side, and 51 per cent are luke- 
warmly on the other, the former opinion has the greater public force 
behind it and is certain to prevail ultimately, if it does not at once. 

One man who holds his beliet tenaciously counts for as much as 
several men who hold theirs weakly, because he is more aggressive 
and thereby compels and overawes others into apparent agreement 
with him, or at least into silence and inaction. This is, perhaps, 
especially true of moral questions. It is not improbable that a large 
part of the accepted moral code is maintained by the earnestness of 
a minority, while more than half of the community is indifferent or 
unconvinced. In short, public opinion is not strictly the opinion of 
the numerical majority, and no form of its expression measures the 
mere majority, for individual views are always to some extent weighed 
as well as counted. 

Without attempting to consider how the weight attaching to in- 
tensity and intelligence can be accurately gauged, it is enough for 
our purpose to point out that when we speak of the opinion of a 
majority we mean, not the numerical, but the effective, majority. 


5. Public Opinion and the Mores' 


We are interested in public opinion, I suppose, -because ouhiie 
opinion is, in the long run, the sovereign power in the state. There is 
not now, and probably there never has been, a government that did 
not rest on public opinion. ‘The best evidence of this is the fact that 
all governments have invariably sought either to control or, at least, 
to inspire and direct it. ; : 
he Kaiser had his “‘official”’ and his ‘‘semiofficial” organs. The 
s in Russia have taken possession of the schools. It is in 
oom that the bolshevists propose to complete the revolu- 
me, the English historian, who was also the greatest of 
ulosophers, said: 

e is always on the side of the governed, the governors have 
support them but opinion. It is therefore on opinion only that 
is founded; and this maxim extends to the most despotic 
st military governments as well as to the most free and popular. 
a Robert E. Park, The Crowd and the Public. (Unpublished manu- 















830 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The soldan of Egypt, or the emperor of Rome, might drive their helpless 
subjects, like brute beasts, against their sentiments and inclinations, but 
he must au least have led his mameluks, or praetorian bands, like men, by 
their opinions. 

Hume’s statement is too epigrammatic to be true. Governments 
can and do maintain themselves by force rather than consent. Public 
opinion to be effective must be organized. The policy of divide and 
conquer succeeds not merely when directed against the enemy’s 
battalions, but especially when directed against his morale. Cortez 
in Mexico, the Belgians in the Congo, the English in India, have 
shown how the thing can be done. More highly organized peoples are 
governed “‘against their sentiments and inclinations” in subtler ways. 

Caspar Schmidt, ‘‘Max Stirner,” the most consistent of anar- 
chists, said the last tyranny is the tyranny of the idea. ‘The last 
tyrant, in other words, is the propagandist, the individua] who gives 
a ‘‘slant”’ to the facts in order to promote his own conception of the 
welfare of the community. 

We use the word public opinion in a wider and in a narrower sense. 
The public, the popular mind, is controlled by something more than 
opinion, or public opinion, in the narrower sense. It is controlled, for 
example, by fashion and by advertising. 

We are living today under the subtle tyranny of the advertising 
man. He tells us what to wear, and makes us wear it. He tells us 
what to eat, and makes us eat it. We do not resent this tyranny. 
We do not feel it. We do what we are told; but we do it with the 
feeling that we are following our own wild impulses. This does not 
mean that, under the inspiration of advertisements, we act irration- 
ally. We have reasons; but they are sometimes after-thoughts. Or 
they are supplied by the advertiser. 

Advertising, like propaganda, is a form of social control. The 


. difference is that propaganda aims to form opinion. Advertising, on 


the other hand, does not, ordinarily, form opinions. It does not, at 
any rate, get its results by provoking discussion. Public opinion, on 
the contrary, is the product of discussion. Where there are no issues 
and no discussion there is no opinion, certainly no public opinion. 

Fashion is one of the subtler forms of control to which we all bow. 
We all follow the fashions at a greater or less distance. Some of 
us fall behind the fashions, but no one ever gets ahead of them. No 
one ever can get ahead of the fashions because we never know what 
they are, until they arrive. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 831 


Fashion, in the broad sense, comes under the head of what Herbert : 
Spencer called ceremonial government. Ceremony, he said, is the 
most primitive and the most effective of all forms of government. 
There is no rebellion against fashion; no rebellion against social 
ritual. At least these rebellions never make martyrs or heroes. 
Dr. Mary Walker, who defied custom and the police, and for, years 
valiantly paraded the streets of Washington in men’s clothes, was a 
heroine no doubt, but she never achieved martyrdom. 

So far as ceremonial government finds expression in a code it is 
etiquette, social ritual, form. We do not realize how powerful an 
influence social form is. ‘There are breaches of etiquette that any 
ordinary human being would rather die than be guilty of. 

We often speak of. social usages and the dictates of fashion as 
if they were imposed by public opinion. This is not true, if we are 
to use public opinion in the narrower sense. Social usages are not 
matters of opinion; they are matters of custom. ‘They are fixed in 
habits. They are not matters of reflection, but of impulse. They 
are parts of ourselves. le 

There is an intimate relation between public opinion and social 
customs or the mores, as Sumner calls them. But there is this 


difference: Public opinion fluctuates. It wobbles. Social customs, ‘¢ 


the mores, change slowly. Prohibition was long in coming; but the — 
custom of drinking has not disappeared. The mores change slowly; 
but they change im one direction and they change steadily. Mores 
change as fashion does; as language does; by a law of their own. 

Fashions must change. It is in their nature to do so. As the 
existing thing loses its novelty it is no longer stimulating; no longer 
interesting. It is no longer the fashion. 

What fashion demands is not something new; but something 
different. It demands the old in a new and stimulating form. Every 
woman who is up with the fashion wants to be in the fashion; but 
she desires to be something different from everyone else, especially 
from her best friend. 

Language changes in response to the same motives and according 
to the same law. We are constantly seeking new metaphors for old 
ideas; constantly using old metaphors to express new ideas. Con- 
sider the way that slang grows! 

There is a fashion or a trend in public opinion. A. V. Dicey, in 
his volume on Law and Opinion in England, points out that there has 
been a constant tendency, for a hundred years, in English legislation, 


832 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


from individualism to collectivism. ‘This does not mean that public 
opinion has changed constantly in one direction. ‘There have been, 
as he says, “cross currents.’ Public opinion has veered, but the 
changes in the mores have been steadily in one direction. 

There has been a change in the fundamental attitudes. ‘This 
change has taken place in response to changed conditions. Change in 
mores is something like change in the nest-building habits of certain 
birds, the swallows, for example. This change, like the change in 
bird habits, takes place without discussion—without clear conscious- 
ness—in response to changed conditions. Furthermore, changes in 
the mores, like changes in fashion, are only slightly under our control. 
They are not the result of agitation; rather they are responsible for 
the agitation. iyi. 

There are profound changes going on in our social organization 
today. Industrial democracy, or something corresponding to it, is com- 
ing. It is coming not entirely because of social agitation. It is 
coming, perhaps, in spite of agitation. It is a social change, but it 
is part of the whole cosmic process. 

There is an intimate relation between the mores and opinion. 
The mores represent the attitudes in which we agree. Opinion repre- 
sents these attitudes in so far as we do not agree. We do-not have 





“opinions except over matters which are in dispute. 


So far as we are controlled by habit and custom, by the mores, 
we do not have opinions. I find out what my opinion is only after I 
discover that I disagree with my fellow, What I call my opinions 
are for the most part invented to justify my agreements or disagree- 
ments with prevailing public opinion. The mores do not need 
justification. As soon as I seek justification for them they have 
become matters of opinion, 

“Public opinion is just the opinion of individuals plus their differ- 
ences. There is no public opinion where there is no substantial 
agreement. But there is no public opinion where there is not dis- 
agreement. Public opinion presupposes public discussion. When a 
matter has reached the stage of public discussion it becomes a matter 
of public opinion. i ; 

Before war was declared in France there was anxiety, specu- 
lation. After mobilization began, discussion ceased. The national 
ideal was exalted. The individual ceased to exist. Men ceased even 


SOCIAL CONTROL 833 


to think. They simply obeyed. This is what happened in all the 
belligerent countries except America. It did not quite happen here. 
Under such circumstances public opinion ceases to exist. ‘This is 
quite as true in a democracy as it is in an autocracy. 

The difference between an autocracy and a democracy is not that 
in one the will of the people finds expression and in the other it does 
not. It is simply that in a democracy a larger number of the citizens 
participate in the discussions which give rise to public opinion. At 
least they are supposed to do so. In a democracy everyone belongs, 
or is supposed to belong, to one great public. In an autocracy there 
are perhaps many little publics. 

What réle do the schools and colleges play in the formation of 
public opinion? The schools transmit the tradition. They stand- 
ardize our~national prejudices and transmit them. ‘They do this 
necessarily. 


A liberal or college education tends to modify and qualify all d 


our inherited political, religious, and social prejudices. It does so by 
bringing into the field of discussion matters that would not otherwise 
get into the public consciousness. In this way a college education 
puts us in a way to control our prejudices instead of being controlled 
by them. This is the purpose of a liberal education. 

The emancipation which history, literature, and a wider expe- 
rience with life give us permits us to enter sympathetically into the 
lives and interests of others; it widens that area over which public 
opinion rather than force exercises. control. 

It makes it possible to extend the area of political control. It 
means the extension of democratic participation in the common life. 
The universities, by their special studies in the field of social science, 
are seeking to accumulate and bring into the view of public opinion 
a larger body of attested fact upon which the public so base its 
opinion. 

It is probably not the business of the universities to agitate 
reforms nor to attempt directly to influence public opinion in regard 
to current issues. To do this is to relax its critical attitude, lessen 
_its authority in matters of fact, and jeopardize its hard-won aca- 
demic freedom. When a university takes over the function of a 
political party or a church it ceases to Pertonm its function as a 
university. 





Bers 


834 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


6. News and Social Control 


Everywhere today men are conscious that somehow they must 
deal with questions more intricate than any that church or school 
had prepared them to understand. Increasingly they know that 
they cannot understand them if the facts are not quickly and steadily 
available. Iicreasingly they are baffled because the facts are not 
available; and they are wondering whether government by consent 
can survive in a time when the manufacture of consent is an un- 
regulated private enterprise. For in an exact sense the present 
crisis of western democracy is a crisis in journalism. 

I do not agree with those who think that the sole cause is corrup- 
tion. There is plenty of corruption, to be sure, moneyed control, 
caste pressure, financial and social bribery, ribbons, dinner parties, 
clubs, petty politics. The speculators in Russian rubles who lied on 
the Paris Bourse about the capture of Petrograd are not the only 
example of their species. And yet corruption does not explain the 
condition of modern journalism. 

Mr. Franklin P. Adams wrote recently: 


Now there is much pettiness—and almost incredible stupidity and 
ignorance—in the so-called free press; but it is the pettiness, etc., common 
to the so-called human race—a pettiness found in musicians, steamfitters, 
landlords, poets, and waiters. And when Miss Lowell [who had made the 
usual aristocratic complaint] speaks of the incurable desire in all American 
newspapers to make fun of everything in season and out, we quarrel again. 
There is an incurable desire in American newspapers to take things much 
more seriously than they deserve. Does Miss Lowell read the ponderous 
news from Washington? Does she read the society news? Does she, 
we wonder, read the newspapers ? 


Mr. Adams does read them, and when he writes that the news- 
papers take things much more seriously than they deserve, he has, 
as the mayor’s wife remarked to the queen, said a mouthful. Since 
the war, especially, editors have come to believe that their highest 
duty is not to report but to instruct, not to print news but to save 
civilization, not to publish what Benjamin Harris calls “the Circum-_ 
stances of Publique Affairs, both abroad and at home,” but to keep 


t Adapted from Walter Lippmann, Liberty and the News, pp. 4-15. (Har- 
court, Brace & Howe, 1920.) 


SOCIAL CONTROL 835 


the nation on the straight and narrow path. Like the kings of Eng- 
land, they have elected themselves Defenders ot the Faith. ‘For 
five years,” says Mr. Cobb of the New York World, “‘there has been 
no free play of public opinion in the world. Confronted by the in- 
exorable necessities of war, governments conscripted public opinion. 
They goose-stepped it. They taught it to stand at attention and 
salute. It sometimes seems that, after the armistice was signed, 
millions of Americans must have taken a vow that they would never 
again do any thinking for themselves. They were willing to die for 
their country but not willing to think for it.” That minority, which 
is proudly prepared to think for it, and not only prepared but cock- 
sure that it alone knows how to think for it, has adopted the theory 
that the public should know what is good for it. 

The work of reporters has thus become confused with the work 
of preachers, revivalists, prophets, and agitators. The current 
theory of American newspaperdom is that an abstraction like the truth 
and a grace-like fairness must be sacrificed whenever anyone thinks 
the necessities of civilization require the sacrifice. To Archbishop 
Whately’s dictum that it matters greatly whether you put truth in 
the first place or the second, the candid expounder of modern 
journalism would reply that he put truth second to what he conceived 
to be the national interest. Judged simply by their product, men like 
Mr. Ochs or Viscount Northcliffe believe that their respective nations 
will perish and civilization decay unless their idea of what is patriotic 
is permitted to temper the curiosity of their readers. 

They believe that edification is more important than veracity. 
They believe it profoundly, violently, relentlessly. They preen them- 
selves upon it. To patriotism, as they define it from day to day, all 
other considerations must yield. Thatistheir pride. And yet what is 
this but one more among myriad examples of the doctrine that the end 
justifies the means? A more insidiously misleading rule of conduct 
was, l believe, never devised among men. It wasa plausible rule as 
long as men believed that an omniscient and benevolent Providence 
taught them what end to seek. But now that men are critically 
aware of how their purposes are special to their age, their locality, 
their interests, and their limited knowledge, it is blazing arrogance 
to sacrifice hard-won standards of credibility to some special purpose. 
[t is nothing but the doctrine that I want what I want when I want it. 


836 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Its monuments are the Inquisition and the invasion of Belgium. It 
is the reason given for every act of unreason, the law invoked when- 
ever lawlessness justifies itself. At bottom it is nothing but the 
anarchical nature of man imperiously hacking its way through. 

Just as the most poisonous form of disorder is the mob incited © 
from high places, the most immoral act the immorality of a govern- 
ment, so the most destructive form of untruth is sophistry and 
propaganda by those whose profession it is to report the news. The 
news columns are common carriers. When those who control them 
arrogate to themselves the right to determine by their own consciences 
what shall be reported and for what purpose, democracy is unwork- 
able. Public opinion is blockaded. For when a people can no longer 
confidently repair “to the best fountains for their information,” then 
anyone’s guess and anyone’s rumor, each man’s hope and each man’s 
whim, become the basis of government. All that the sharpest 
critics of democracy have alleged is true if there is no steady supply 
of trustworthy and relevant news. Incompetence and aimlessness, 
corruption and disloyalty, panic and ultimate disaster, must come to 
any people which is denied an assured access to the facts. No one 
can manage anything on pap. Neither can a people. 

Few episodes in recent history are more poignant than that of 
the British prime minister, sitting at the breakfast table with that 
morning’s paper before him, protesting that he cannot do the sensible 
thing in regard to Russia because a powerful newspaper froprietor 
has drugged the public. ‘That incident is a photograph of the supreme 
danger which confronts popular government. All other dangers are 
contingent upon it, for the news is the chief source of the opinion by 
which government now proceeds. So long as there is interposed 
between the ordinary citizen and the facts a news organization deter- 
mining by entirely private and unexamined standards, no matter 
how lofty, what he shall know, and hence what he shall believe, no 
one will be able to say that the substance of democratic government 
is secure. The theory of our constitution, says Mr. Justice Holmes, 
is that truth is the only ground upon which men’s wishes safely can 
be carried out. In so far as those who purvey the news make of their 
own beliefs a higher law than truth, they are attacking the foundations 
of our constitutional system. ‘There can be no higher law in 
journalism than to tell the truth and shame the devil. . 


SOCIAL CONTROL 837 


In a few generations it will seem ludicrous to historians that a 
people professing government by the will of the people should have 
made no serious effort to guarantee the news without which a govern- 
ing opinion cannot exist. “Is it possible,” they will ask, “‘that at the 
‘beginning of the twentieth century nations calling themselves democ- 
racies were content to act on what happened to drift across their 
doorsteps; that apart from a few sporadic exposures and outcries they 
made no plans to bring these common carriers under social control, 
that they provided no genuine training schools for the men upon 
whose sagacity they were dependent; above all, that their political 
scientists went on year after year writing and lecturing about govern- 
ment without producing one single, significant study of the process 
of public opinion?” And then they will recall the centuries in which 
the church enjoyed immunity from criticism, and perhaps they will 
insist that the news structure of secular society was not seriously 
examined for analogous reasons. 


7. The Psychology of Propaganda’ 


Paper bullets, according to Mr. Creel, won the war. But they 
have forever disturbed our peace of mind. The war is long since over, 
all but saying so; but our consciousness of the immanence of propa- 
ganda bids fair to be permanent. It has been discovered by indi- 
viduals, by associations, and by governments that a certain kind of 
advertising can be used to mold public opinion and control demo- 
cratic majorities. As long as public opinion rules the destinies of 
human affairs, there will be no end to an instrument that controls it. 

The tremendous forces of propaganda are now common property. 
They are available for the unscrupulous and the destructive as well 
as for the constructive and the moral. This gives us a new interest 
an its technique, namely, to inquire if anywhere there is an opportunity 
for regulative and protective interference with its indiscriminate 
exploitation. « ) 

Until recently the most famous historical use of the term propa- 
ganda made it synonymous with foreign ‘missions. It was Pope 
Gregory XV who almost exactly three centuries ago, after many 
years of preparation, finally founded the great Propaganda College 


* From Raymond Dodge, “The Psychology of Propaganda,” Religious Edu- 
cation, XV (1920), 241-52. 


838 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


to care for the interests of the church in non-Catholic countries. 
With its centuries of experience this is probably the most efficient 
organization for propaganda in the world. Probably most apologetics 
is propaganda. No religion and no age has been entirely free from it. 

One of the classical psychoanalytic case histories is that of Breuer’s 
water glass and the puppy dog. A young lady patient was utterly 
unable to drink water from a glass. It was a deep embarrassment. 
Even under the stress of great thirst in warm weather and the earnest 
effort to break up a foolish phobia, the glass might be taken and raised, 
but it couldn’t be drunk from. Psychoanalysis disclosed the following 
facts. Underlying this particular phobia was an intense antipathy 
to dogs. ‘The young lady’s roommate had been discovered giving a 
dog a drink from the common drinking-glass. The antipathy to the 
dog was simply transferred to the glass. 

The case is a commonplace in the annals of hysteria. But let us 
examine the mechanism. Suppose that I had wanted to keep that 
drinking-glass for my own personal use. A perfectly simple and 
effective expedient it would have been in the absence of other good 
motives to capitalize that antipathy by allowing her-to see the dog 
drink out of the glass. ‘The case would then have been a perfect case 
of propaganda. All propaganda is capitalized prejudice. It rests 
on some emotional premise which is the motive force of the process. 
The emotional transfer is worked by some associative process like 
similarity, use, or the causal relationship. ‘The derived sympathetic 
antipathy represents the goal. 

The great self-preservative, social, and racial instincts will always 
furnish the main reservoir of motive forces at the service of propa- 
ganda. They will have the widest and the most insistent appeal. 
Only second to these in importance are the peculiar racial tendencies 
and historical traditions that represent the genius of a civilizationg 
The racial-superiority consciousness of the Germans operated as a 
never-ending motive for their ‘‘Aushalten” propagandag We Ameri-. 
cans have a notable cultural premise in our consideration for the 
underdog. Few things outside our consciousness of family will 
arouse us as surely and as universally as this modification of the 
protective instinct. 

In addition to the group tendencies that arise from a community 
of experience, individual propaganda may use every phase of indi- 


SOCIAL CONTROL 830 


vidual experience, individual bias and prejudice. I am told that 
first-class salesmen not infrequently keep family histories of their 
customers, producing a favorable attitude toward their merchandise 
by way of an apparent personal interest in the children. Apparently 
any group of ideas with an emotional valence may become the basis 
for propaganda. 

There are three limitations to the processes of propaganda. ‘The 
first is emotional recoil, the second is the exhaustion of available 
motive force, the third is the development of internal resistance or 
negativism. 

The most familiar of the three is emotional recoil. We know 
only too well what will happen if we tell a boy all the things that he 
likes to do are ‘“‘bad,” while all the things that he dislikes are “good.” 
Up to a certain point the emotional value of bad and good respectively 
will be transferred to the acts as we intend. But each transfer has 
an emotional recoil on the concepts good and bad. At the end a most 
surprising thing may happen. The moral values may get reversed 
in the boy’s mind. Bad may come to represent the sum total of the 
satisfactory and desirable, while good may represent the sum total 
of the unsatisfactory and the undesirable. ‘To the pained adult such 
a consequence is utterly inexplicable, only because he fails to realize 
that all mental products are developments. There is always a kind 
of reciprocity in emotional transfer. ‘The value of the modified factor 
recoils to the modifying factor. 

The whole mechanism of the transfer and of the recoil may best 
be expressed in terms of the conditioned reflex of Pavlov. ‘The flow 
of saliva in a dog is a natural consequence to the sight and smell of 
food. If concurrently with the smelling of food the dog is pinched, 
the pinch ceases to be a matter for resentment. By a process of 
emotional transfer, on being pinched the dog may show the lively 
delight that belongs to the sight and smell of food. Even the salivary 
secretions may be started by the transfigured pinch. It was the 
great operating physiologist Sherrington who exclaimed after a visit 
to Pavlov that at last he understood the psychology of the martyrs. 
But it is possible so to load the smell of food with pain and damage 
that its positive value breaks down. FEating-values may succumb 
to the pain values instead of the pain to the eating-values. This is 
the prototype of the concept bad when it gets overloaded with the 


840 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


emotional value of the intrinsically desirable. The law of recoil seems 
to be a mental analogue of the physical law that action and reaction 
are equal and in opposite directions. 

The second limitation to propaganda occurs when the reciprocal 
effects of transfer exhaust the available motive forces of a mind. 
Propaganda certainly weakens the forces that are appealed to too 
often. We are living just now in a world of weakened appeals. 
Many of the great human motives were exploited to the limit during 
the war. It is harder to raise money now than it was, harder to find 
motives for giving that are still effective. One of my former col- 
leagues once surprised and shocked me by replying to some perfectly 
good propaganda in which I tried to tell him that certain action was 
in the line of duty, to the effect that he was tired of being told that 
something was his duty, and that he was resolved not to do another 
thing because it was his duty. There seems to be evidence that in 
some quarters, at least, patriotism, philanthropy, and civic duty 
have been exploited as far as the present systems will carry. It is 
possible to exhaust our floating capital of social-motive forces. . When 
that occurs we face a kind of moral bankruptcy. 

A final stage of resistance is reached when propaganda develops 
a negativistic defensive reaction. To develop such negativisms is 
always the aim of counterpropaganda. It calls the opposed propa- 
ganda, prejudiced, half-truth, or, as the Germans did, “Lies, All 
Lies.”” There is evidence that the moral collapse of Germany under 
the fire of our paper bullets came with the conviction that they had 
been systematically deceived by their own propagandists. 

There are two great social dangers in propaganda. Great power 
in irresponsible hands is always a social menace. We have some 
legal safeguards against careless use of high-powered physical explo- 
sives. Against the greater danger of destructive propaganda there 
seems to be little protection without imperiling the sacred principles 
oi free speech. 

The second social danger is the tendency to overload and level 
down every great human incentive in the pursuit of relatively trivial 
ends. ‘To become Jdlasé is the inevitable penalty of emotional exploita- 
tion. I believe there may well be grave penalties in store for the 
reckless commercialized exploitation of human emotions in the cheap 
sentimentalism of our moving pictures. But there are even graver 


SOCIAL CONTROL 841 


penalties in store for the generation that permits itself to grow morally 
blasé. One of our social desiderata, it seems to me, is the protection 
of the great springs of human action from destructive exploitation for 
selfish, commercial, or other trivial ends. 

The slow constructive process of building moral credits by sys- 
tematic education lacks the picturesqueness of propaganda. It also 
lacks its quick results. But just as the short cut of hypnotism proved 
a dangerous substitute for moral training, so I believe we shall find 
that not only is moral education a necessary precondition for effective 
propaganda, but that in the end it is a safer and incomparably more 
reliable social instrument. 


C. INSTITUTIONS 
I. Institutions and the Mores' 


Institutions and laws are produced out of mores. An institution 
consists of a concept (idea, notion, doctrine, interest) and a structure. 
The structure is a framework, or apparatus, or perhaps only a number 
of functionaries set to co-operate in prescribed ways at a certain 
conjuncture. The structure holds the concept and furnishes instru- 
mentalities for bringing it into the world of facts and action in a way 
to serve the interests of men in society. Institutions are either 
crescive or €hactéd. They are crescive when they take shape in the 
mores, growing by the instinctive efforts by which the mores are 
produced. ‘Then the efforts, through long use, become definite and 
specific. 

Property, marriage, and religion are the most primary insti- 
tutions. They began in folkways. They became customs. They 
developed into mores by the addition of some philosophy of wel- 
fare, however crude. Then they were made more definite and 
specific as regards the rules, the prescribed acts, and the apparatus 
to be employed. ‘This produced a structure and the institution was 
complete. Enacted institutions are products of rational invention 
and intention They belong to high civilization. Banks are institu- 
tions of credit founded on usages which can be traced back to bar- 
barism. ‘There came a time when, guided by rational reflection on 
experience, men systematized and regulated the usages which had 


' From William G. Sumner, Folkways, pp. 53-56. (Ginn & Co., 1906.) 


842 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


become current, and thus created positive institutions of credit, 
defined by law and sanctioned by the force of the state. Pure enacted 
institutions which are strong and prosperous are hard to find. It is 
too difficult to invent and create an institution, for a purpose, out of 
nothing. ‘The electoral college in the Constitution of the United 
States isan example. In that case the democratic mores of the people 
have seized upon the device and made of it something quite different 
from what the inventors planned. All institutions have come out of 
mores, although the rational element in them is sometimes so large 
that their origin in the mores is not to be ascertained except by a 
historical investigation (legislatures, courts, juries, joint-stock com- 
panies, the stock exchange). Property, marriage, and religion are 
still almost entirely in the mores. Amongst nature men any man 
might capture and hold a woman at any time, if he could. He did it 
by superior force which was its own supreme justification. But his 
act brought his group and her group into war, and produced harm to 
his comrades. They forbade capture, or set conditions for it. Beyond 
the limits, the individual might still use force, but his comrades were 
no longer responsible. ‘The glory to him, if he succeeded, might be 
all the greater. His control over his captive was absolute. Within 
the prescribed conditions, “capture”? became technical and institu- 
tional, and rights grew out of it. The woman had a status which was 
defined by custom, and was very different from the status of a real 
captive. Marriage was the institutional relation, in the society and 
under its sanction, of a woman to a man, where the woman had been 
obtained in the prescribed way. She was then a “wife.” What her 
rights and duties were was defined by the mores, as they are today in 
all civilized society. — 

Acts. of legislation come out of the mores. In low civilization all 
societal regulations are customs and taboos, the origin of which is 
unknown. Positive laws are impossible until the stage of verification, 
reflection, and criticism is reached. Until that point is reached there 
is only customary law, or common law. The customary law may be 
codified and systematized with respect to some philosophical prin- 
ciples, and yet remain customary. ‘The codes of Manu and Justinian 
are examples. Enactment is not possible until reverence for ancestors 
has been so much weakened that it is no longer thought wrong to 
interfere with traditional customs by positive enactment. Even then 


SOCIAL CONTROL 843 


there is reluctance to make enactments, and there is a stage of tran- 
sition during which traditional customs are extended by interpretation 
to cover new cases and to prevent evils. Legislation, however, has 
to seek standing ground on the existing mores, and it soon becomes 
apparent that legislation, to be strong, must be consistent with the 
mores. Things which have been in the mores ere put under police 
regulation and later under positive law. It is sometimes said that 
“public opinion”? must ratify and approve police regulations, but this 
statement rests on an imperfect analysis. The regulations must 
conform to the mores, so that the public will not think them too lax 
or too strict. The mores of our urban and rural populations are not 
the same; consequently legislation about intoxicants which is made 
by one of these sections of the population does not succeed when 
applied to the other. The regulation of drinking-places, gambling- 
places, and disorderly houses has passed through the above-mentioned 
stages. It is always a question of expediency whether to leave a 
subject under the mores, or to make a police regulation for it, or to 
put it into the criminallaw. Betting, horse racing, dangerous sports, 
electric cars, and vehicles are cases now of things which seem to be 
passing under positive enactment and out of the unformulated control 
of the mores. When an enactment is made there is a sacrifice of the 
elasticity and automatic self-adaptation of custom, but an enactment 
is specific and is provided with sanctions. Enactments come into 
use when conscious purposes are formed, and it is believed that 
specific devices can be framed by which to realize such purposes in 
the society. Then also prohibitions take the place of taboos, and 
punishments are planned to be deterrent rather than revengeful. 
The mores of different societies, or of different ages, are characterized 
by, greater or less readiness and confidence in regard to. the use of 
positive enactments for the realization of societal purposes. 


° 


2. Common Law and Statute Law’ hee 


It probably would have surprised the early Englishman if he 
had been told that either he or anybody else did not know the 
law—still more that there was ever any need for any parliament or 
assembly to tell him what it was. They all knew the law, and they all 


- Adapted from Frederic J. Stimson, Popular Law-Making, pp. 2-16. (Charles 
Scribner’s Sons, 1912.) 


844 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


knew that they knew the law, and the law was a thing that they knew 
as naturally as they knew fishing and hunting. They had grown up 
into it. It never occurred to them as an outside thing. 

So it has been found that where you take children, modern chil- 
dren, at least boys who are sons of educated parents, and put them 
in large masses by themselves, they will, without apparently any 
reading, rapidly invent a notion of law; that is, they will invent a 
certain set of customs which are the same thing to them as law, and 
which indeed are the same as law. ‘They have tried in Johns Hopkins 
University experiments among children, to leave them entirely alone, 
without any instruction, and it is quite singular how soon customs 
will grow up, and it is also quite singular, and a thing that always 
surprises the socialist and communist, that about the earliest concept 
at which they will arrive is that of private property! They will soon 
get a notion that one child owns a stick, or toy, or seat, and the others 
must respect that property. This I merely use as an illustration to 
show how simple the notion of law was among our ancestors in 
England fifteen hundred years ago, and how it had grown up with 
them, of course, from many centuries, but in much the same way 
that the notion of custom or law grows up among children. 

The “law” of the free Anglo-Saxon people was regarded as a thing 
existing by itself, like the sunlight, or at least as existing like a unis 
versally accepted custom observed by everyone. It was five hundred 
years before the notion crept into the minds, even of the members of 
the British Parliaments, that they could make a new law. What 
they supposed they did, and what they were understood by the 
people to do, was merely to declare the law, as it was then and as it 
had been from time immemorial; the notion always being—and the 
farther back you go and the more simple the people are, the more 
they have that notion—that their free laws and customs were some- 


thing which came from the beginning of the world, which they always . 


held, which were immutable, no more to be changed than the forces 
of nature; and that no Parliament, under the free Anglo-Saxon 
government or later under the Norman kings who tried to make them 
unfree, no king could ever make a law but could only declare what 
the law was. The Latin phrase for that distinction is jus dare, and 
jus dicere. In early England, in Anglo-Saxon times, the Parliament 
never did anything but tell what the law was; and, as I have said, 


EEE 


SOCIAL CONTROL 845 


not only what it was then but what it had been, as they supposed, 
for thousands of years before. The notion of a legislature to make 
new laws is an entirely modern conception of Parliament. 

The notion of law as a statute, a thing passed by a legislature, a 
thing enacted, made new by representative assembly, is perfectly 
modern, and yet it has so thoroughly taken possession of our minds, 
‘and particularly of the American mind (owing to the forty-eight — 

‘Iegislatures that we have at work, besides the national Congress, 
;every year, and to the fact that they try to do a great deal to deserve 
their pay in the way of enacting laws), that statutes have assumed in 
our minds the main bulk of the concept of law as we formulate it to 
ourselves. 

Statutes with us_are recent, legislatures making statutes are 
recent everywhere; legislatures themselves are fairly recent; that is, 
they date only from the end of the Dark Ages, at least in Anglo-Saxon 
countries. Representative government itself is supposed, by most 
scholars, to be the one invention that is peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon 
people. 

I am quite sure that all the American people when they think of 
law in the sense I am now speaking of, even when they are not think- 
ing necessarily of statute law, do mean, nevertheless, a law which is 
effforced by somebody with power, somebody with a big stick. They 
mean a law, an ordinance, an order or dictate addressed to them by 
a sovereign, or at least by a power of some sort, and they mean an 
ordinance which if they break they are going to suffer for, either in 
person or in property. In other words, they have a notion of law 
as a written command addressed by the sovereign to the subject, 
or at least by one of the departments of government to the citizen. 
Now that, I must caution you, is in the first place rather a modern 
notion of law, quite modern in England; it is really Roman, and was 
not law as it was understood by our Anglo-Saxon ancestor. He 
did not think of law as a thing written, addressed to him by the 
king. Neither did he necessarily think of-it as a thing which had 
any definite punishment attached or any code attached, any “sanc- 

' tion,” as we call it, or thing which enforces the law; a penalty or 
fine or imprisonment. There are just as good “‘sanctions” for law 
outside of the sanctions that our people usually think of as there are 
inside of them, and often very much better; for example, the sanction 


846 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


of a strong custom. Take any example you like; there are many 
states where marriage between blacks and whites is not made un- 
lawful but where practically it is made tremendously unlawful by the 
force of public opinion [mores]. Take the-case of debts of honor, 
so called, debts of gambling; they are paid far more universally than 
ordinary commercial debts, even by the same people; but there is 
no law enforcing them—there is no sanction for the collection of 
gambling debts. And take any custom that grows up. We know 
how strong our customs in college are. Take the mere custom of a 
club table; no one dares or ventures to supplant the members at 
that table. That kind of sanction is just as good a law as a law made 
by statute and imposing five or ten dollars’ penalty or a week’s im- 
prisonment. And judges or juries recognize those things as laws, 
just as much as they do statute laws; when all other laws are lacking, 
our courts will ask what is the “custom of the trade.” These be 
laws, and are often better enforced than the statute law; the rules 
of the New York Stock Exchange are better enforced than the laws 
of the state legislature. Now all our early Anglo-Saxon law was law 
of that kind. For the law was but universal custom, and that 
custom had no sanction; but for breach of the custom anybody 
could make personal attack, or combine with his friends to make 
attack, on the person who committed the breach, and then, when 
the matter was taken up by the members of both tribes, and finally 
by the witenagemot as a judicial court, the question was, what the 
law was. ‘That was the working of the old Anglo-Saxon law, and it 
was a great many centuries before the notion of law changed from 
that in their minds. And this “unwritten law.’ perdures in the 
minds of many of the people todays 


aE 


3. Religion and Social Control! 


As a social fact religion is, indeed, not something apart from 
mores or social standards; it is these as regarded as “sacred.” 
Strictly speaking there is no such thing as.an unethical religion. We 
judge some religions as unethical because the mores of which they 
approve are not our mores, that is, the standards of higher civilization. 
All religions are ethical, however, in the sense that without exception 


«From Charles A. Ellwood, “Religion and Social Control,” in the Scientific 
Monthly, VII (1918), 339-41. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 844) 


they support customary morality, and they do this necessarily 
because the values which the religious attitude of mind universalizes 
and makes absolute are social values. Social obligations thus early 
become religious obligations. In this way religion becomes the chief 
means of conserving customs and habits which have been found 
to be safe by society or which are believed to conduce to social 
welfare. 

As the guardian of the mores, religion develops prohibitions and 
“taboos” of actions of which the group, or its dominant class, dis- 
approves. It may lend itself, therefore, to maintaining a given social 
order longer than that order is necessary, or even after it has become 
a stumbling-block to social progress. For the same reason it may 
be exploited by a dominant class in their own interest. It is in this 
way that religion has often become an impediment to progress and an 
instrument of class oppression. This socially conservative side of 
religion is so well known and so much emphasized by certain writers 
that it scarcely needs even to be mentioned. It is the chief source 
of the abuses of religion, and in the modern world is probably the chief 
cause of the deep enmity which religion has raised up for itself in a 
certain class of thinkers who see nothing but its negative and con- 
servative side. 

There is no necessity, however, for the social control which religion 
exerts being of a non-progressive kind. The values which religion 
universalizes and makes absolute may as easily be values which are 
progressive as those which are static. In a static society which em- 
phasizes prohibitions and the conservation of mere habit or custom, 
religion will also, of course, emphasize the same things; but in a 
progressive society religion can as easily attach its sanctions to 
social ideals and standards beyond the existing order as to those 
actually realized. Such an idealistic religion will, however, have the 
disadvantages of appealing mainly to the progressive and idealizing 
tendencies of human nature rather than to its conservative and 
reactionary tendencies. Necessarily, -also, it will appeal more 
strongly to those enlightened classes in society who are leading in 
social progress rather than to those who are content with things as 
they are. ‘This is doubtless the main reason why progressive religions 
are exceedingly rare in human history, taking it as a whole, and 
have appeared only in the later stages of cultural evolution. 


848 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


4 


Nevertheless, there are good reasons for believing that the 
inevitable evolution of religion has been in a humanitarian direction, 
and that there is an intimate connection between social idealism and 
the higher religions. There are two reasons for this generalization. 
The social life becomes more complex with each succeeding stage of 
upward development, and groups have therefore more need of com- 
manding the unfailing devotion of their members if they are to main- 
tain their unity and efficiency as groups. More and more, accord- 
ingly, religion in its evolution has come to emphasize the self-effacing 
devotion of the individual to the. group in times of crisis. And as 
the complexity of social life increases, the crises increase in which the 
group must ask the unfailing service and devotion of its members. 
Thus religion in its upward evolution becomes increasingly social, 
until it finally comes to throw supreme emphasis upon the life of 
service and of self-sacrifice for the sake of the group; and as the group 
expands from the clan and the tribe to humanity, religion necessarily 
becomes less tribal and more humanitarian until the supreme object 
of the devotion which it inculcates must ultimately be the whole of 
h ity. | 

umanity ‘ 


III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. Social Control and Human Nature 


Society, so far as it can be distinguished from the individuals 
that compose it, performs for those individuals the function of a 
mind. Like mind in the individual man, society is a control organi- 
zation. Evidence of mind in the animal is the fact that it can make 
adjustments to new conditions. The evidence that any group of 
persons constitutes a society is the fact that the group is able to act 
with some consistency, and as a unit. It follows that the literature 
on social control, in the widest extension of that term, embraces 
most that has been written and all that is fundamental on the subject 
of society. In chapter ii, ‘‘Human Nature,” and the later chapters 
on “Interaction” and its various forms, “Conflict,” “ Accommoda- 
tion,” and ‘‘Assimilation,”’ points of view and literature which might 
properly be included in an adequate study of social control have 
already been discussed. The present chapter is concerned mainly 


it 


SOCIAL CONTROL 849 


with ceremonial, public opinion, and law, three of the specific forms 
in which social control has universally found expression. 

Sociology is indebted to Edward Alsworth Ross for a general 
term broad enough to include all the special forms in which the 
solidarity of the group manifests itself. It was his brilliant essay on 
the subject published in 1901 that popularized the term social control. 
Sumner published in 1907 his Folkways. This volume, in spite of its 
unsystematic character, must still be regarded as the most subtle 
analysis and suggestive statement about human nature and social 
relations that has yet been written in English. 

A more systematic and thoroughgoing review of the facts and 
literature, however, is Hobhouse’s Morals in Evolution. After 
Hobhouse the next most important writer is Westermarck, whose 
work, The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, published in 
1906, was a pioneer in this field. 


2. Elementary Forms of Social Control 


Literature upon elementary forms of social control includes 
materials upon ceremonies, taboo, myth, prestige, and leadership. 
These are characterized as elementary because they have arisen 
spontaneously everywhere out of original nature. The conventional- 
ized form in which we now find them has arisen in the course of their 
repetition and transmission from one generation to another and 
from one culture group to another. The fact that they have been 
transmitted over long periods of time and wide areas of territory is 
an indication that they are the natural vehicle for the expression of 
fundamental human impulses. 

It is quite as true of leadership, as it is of myth and prestige, 
that it springs directly out of an emotional setting. The natural 
leaders are never elected and leadership is, in general, a matter that 
cannot be rationally controlled. 

The materials upon ceremony, social ritual, and fashion are large 
in comparison with the attempts at a systematic study of the 
phenomena. Herbert Spencer’s chapter on “Ceremonial Govern- 
ment,’ while it interprets social forms from the point of view of the 
individual rather than of the group, is still the only pape te survey 
of the materials in this special field. 


850 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Ethnology and folklore have accumulated an enormous amount 
of information in regard to primitive custom which has yet to be 
interpreted from the point of view of more recent studies of human 
nature and social life. The most important collections are Frazer’s 
Golden Bough and his Totemism and Exogamy. Crawley’s The 
Mystic Rose is no such monument of scholarship and learning as 
Frazer’s Golden Bough, but it is suggestive and interesting. 

Prestige and taboo represent fundamental human traits whose 
importance is by no means confined to the life of primitive man where, 
almost exclusively hitherto, they have been observed and studied. 

The existing literature on leadership, while serving to emphasize 
the importance of the leader as a factor in social organization and 
social process, is based on too superficial an analysis to be of per- 
manent scientific value. Adequate methods for the investigation of 
leadership have not been formulated. In general it is clear, however, 
that leadership must be studied in connection with the social group 
in which it arises and that every type of group will have a different 
type of leader. The prophet, the agitator, and the political boss 
are types of leaders in regard to whom there already are materials 
available for study and interpretation. ~ A study of leadership should 
include, however, in addition to the more general types, like the 
poet, the priest, the tribal chieftain, and the leader of the gang, 
consideration of leadership in the more specific areas of social life, 
the precinct captain, the promoter, the banker, the pillar of the church, 
the football coach, and the society leader. 


3- Public Opinion and Social Control 


Public opinion, ‘“‘the fourth estate’ as Burke called it, has been 
appreciated, but not studied. The old Roman adage, Vox popult, 
vox dei, is a recognition of public opinion as the ultimate seat of 
authority. Public opinion has been elsewhere identified with the 
“general will.” Rousseau conceived the general will to be best 
expressed through a plebiscite at which a question was presented 
without the possibilities of the divisive effects of public discussion. 
The natural impulses of human nature would make for more uniform 
and beneficial decisions than the calculated self-interest that would 
follow discussion and deliberation. English liberals like John Stuart 
Mill, of the latter half of the nineteenth century, looked upon freedom 


SOCIAL CONTROL 851 


of discussion and free speech as the breath of life of a free society, 
and that tradition has come down to us a little shaken by recent 
experience, but substantially intact. 

The development of advertising and of propaganda, particularly 
during and since the world-war, has aroused a great many misgiv- 
ings, nevertheless, in regard to the traditional freedom of the press. 
Walter Lippmann’s thoughtful little volume, Liberty and the News, 
has stated the whole problem in a new form and has directed atten- 
tion to an entirely new field for observation and study. 

De Tocqueville, in his study of the early frontier, Democracy in 
America, and James Bryce, in his American Commonwealth, have 
contributed a good deal of shrewd observation to our knowledge 
of the réle of political opinion in the United States. The important 
attempts in English to define public opinion as a social phenomenon 
and study it objectively are A. V. Dicey’s Law and Opinion in Eng- 
land in the Nineteenth Century and A. Lawrence Lowell’s Public Opinion 
and Popular Government. Although Dicey’s investigation is confined 
to England and to the nineteenth century, his analysis of the facts 
throws new light on the nature of public opinion in general. The 
intimate relation between the press and parliamentary government 
in England is revealed in an interesting historical monograph by 
Michael Macdonagh, The Reporters’ Gallery. 


4. Legal Institutions and Law 


Public law came into existence in an effort of the community to 
deal with conflict. In achieving this result, however, courts of law 
invariably have sought to make their decisions first in accordance 
with precedent, and second in accordance with common sense. The 
latter insured that the law would be administered equitably; the 
former that interpretations of the law would be consistent. Post 
says: 

Jural feelings are principally feelings of indignation as when an injustice 
is experienced by an individual, a feeling of fear as when an individual is 
affected by an inclination to do wrong, a feeling of penitence as when the 
individual has committed a wrong. With the feeling of indignation is 
joined a desire for vengeance, with the feeling of penitence a desire of 
atonement, the former tending towards an act of vengeance and the latter 
towards an act of expiation. The jural judgments of individuals are not 


852 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


complete judgments; they are based upon an undefined sense of right and 
wrong. In the consciousness of the individual there exists no standard of 
right and wrong under which every single circumstance giving rise to the 
formation of a jural judgment can be subsumed. A simple instinct 
impels the individual to declare an action right or wrong.! 


If these motives are the materials with which the administration 
of justice has to deal, the legal motive which has invariably con- 
trolled the courts is something quite different. The. courts in the 
administration of law have invariably sought, above all else, to achieve 
consistency. It is an ancient maxim of English law that “it is better 
that the law should be certain than that the law should be just.’ 

The conception implicit in the law is that the rule laid down in 
one case must apply in every similar case. In the effort to preserve 
this consistency in a constantly increasing variety of cases the courts 
have been driven to the formulation of principles, increasingly general 
and abstract, to multiply distinctions and subtleties, and to operate 
with legal fictions. All this effort to make the law a rationally consist- 
ent system was itself inconsistent with the conception that law, like 
religion, had a natural history and was irvolved, like language, ina 
process of growth and decay. It is only in recent years that compara- 
tive jurisprudence has found its way into the law schools. Although 
there is a vast literature upon the subject of the history of the law, 
Maine’s Ancient Law, published in 1861, is still the classic work in 
this field in English. 

More recently there has sprung up a school of “legal ethnology.” 
The purpose of these studies is not to trace the historical development 
of the law, but to seek in the forms in use in isolated and primitive 
societies materials which will reveal, in their more elementary expres- 
sions, motives and practices that are common to legal institutions of 
every people. In the Preface to a recent volume of Select Readings 
on the Origin and Development of Legal Institutions, the editors venture 


t Albert H. Post, Evolution of Law: Select Readings on the Origin and Develop- 
meni of Legal Institutions, Vol. I, ‘‘Primitive and Ancient Legal Institutions, ” 
compiled by Albert Kocourek and John H. Wigmore; translated from the 
German by Thomas J. McCormack. Section 2, ‘‘Ethnological Jurisprudence,” 
p. 12- (Boston, 1915.) 

2 Quoted by James Bryce, ‘Influence of National Character and Historical 
Environment on Development of Common Law,” annual address to the American 
Bar Association, 1907, Reports of the American Bar Association, XXXI (1907), 
447. 


EO 


SOCIAL CONTROL 853 


the statement, in justification of the materials from sociology that 
_ these volumes include, that “‘contrary, perhaps, to legal tradition, 
the law itself is only a social phenomenon and not to be understood 
in detachment from human uses, necessities and forces from which 
it arises.” Justice Holmes’s characterization of law as ‘‘a great 
anthropological document” seems to support that position. 

Law in its origin is related to religion. The first public law was 
that which enforced the religious taboos, and the ceremonial purifica- 
tions and expiations were intended to protect the community from 
the divine punishment for any involuntary disrespect or neglect of the 
rites due the gods which were the first crimes to be punished by the 
community as a whole, and for the reason that failure to punish or 
expiate them would bring disaster upon the community as a whole. 

Maine says that the earliest conceptions of law or a rule of life 
among the Greeks are contained in the Homeric words Themis and 
Themistes. 


When a king decided a dispute by a sentence, the judgment was assumed 
to be the result of direct inspiration. The divine agent, suggesting judicial 
awards to kings or to gods, the greatest of kings, was Themis. The 
peculiarity of the conception is brought out by the use of the plural. Themis- 
tes, Themises, the plural of Themis, are the awards themselves, divinely 
dictated to the judge. Kings are spoken of as if they had a store of 
‘““Themistes”’ ready to hand for use; but it must be distinctly understood 
that they are not laws, but judgments. “Zeus, or the human king on 
earth,” says Mr. Grote, in his History of Greece, “‘is not a law-maker, but 
a judge.” He is provided with Themistes, but, consistently with the belief 
in their emanation from above, they cannot be supposed to be connected by 
any thread of principle; they are separate, isolated judgments.' 


It is only in recent times, with the gradual separation of the 
function of the church and the state, that legal institutions have 
acquired a character wholly secular. Within the areas of social 
life that are represented on the one hand by religion and on the other 
by law are included all the sanctions and the processes by which 
society maintains its authority and imposes its will upon its individual 
members.? | 

*Henry S. Maine, Ancient Law. Its connection with the early history of 
society and its relation to modern ideas, pp. 4-5. 14th ed. (London, 1891.) 


2 For the distinction between the cultural process and the political process 
see Supra, Pp. 52-53. 


854 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. SOCIAL CONTROL AND HUMAN NATURE 


(1) Maine, Henry S. Dissertations on Early Law and Custom. New 
York, 1886. 

(2) Kocourek, Albert, and Wigmore, John H., editors. Evolution of Law. 
Select readings on the origin and development of legal institutions. 
Vol. I, “Sources of Ancient and Primitive Law.” Vol. II, “ Primitive 
and Ancient Legal Institutions.” Vol. III, ‘‘ Formative Influences of 
Legal Development.’ Boston, 1915. 

(3) Sumner, W. G. Folkways. A study of the sociological importance of 
usages, manners, customs, mores, and morals. Boston, 1906. 

(4) Letourneau, Ch. L’ Evolution de la morale. Paris, 1887. 

(s) Westermarck, Edward. The Origin and Development of the Morai 
Idzas, 2 vols. London, 1906-8. 

(6) Hobhouse, L. T. Morals in Evolution. Néw ed. A study in com- 
parative ethics. New York, rg15. 

(7) Durkheim, Emile. The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. A 
study in religious sociology. Translated from the French by J. W. 
Swain. Mander. IQIS. 

(8) Novikow, J. Conscience et volonté sociales. Paris, 1897. 

(9) Wallas, Graham. Our Social Heritage. New Haven, 1921. 

(10) Ross, Edward A. Social Control. A survey of the foundations of 
order. New York, Igor. 

(11) Bernard, Luther L. The Transition to an Objective Standard of Sociai 
Control. Chicago, 1o1t. 

(12) Sadler, G. T. The Relation of Custom to Law. London, tg19. 


II. ELEMENTARY FORMS OF SOCIAL CONTROL 


A. Leadership 


(1) Woods, Frederick A. The Influence of M onarchs. Steps in a new 
science of history. New York, 1913. 

(2) Smith, J.M: PP. The Pr ophet and His Problems. New York, 1914. 

(3) W alter, F. Die Propheten in threm sozialen Beruf und das Wirt- 
schaftsleben threr Zeut. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Sozialethik. 
Freiburg-in-Brisgau, 1900. 

(4) Vierkandt, A. ‘‘Fiihrende Individuen bei den Naturvélkern,” 
Zeitschrift fiir Sozialwissenschaft, XI (1908), 542-53, 623-30. 

(5) Dixon, Roland B. ‘Some Aspects of the American Shaman,” 
The Journal of American Folk-Lore, XXI (1908), 1-12. 

(6) Kohler, Josef. Philosophy of Law. (Albrecht’s translation.) 
“Cultural Importance of Chieftainry.” ‘Philosophy :- of Law 
Series,” Vol. XII. [Reprinted in the Evolution of Law, I1, 96-103.] 

(7) Fustel de Coulanges. The Ancient City, Book III, chap. ix, ‘The 
Government of the City. The King,” pp. 231-39. Boston, 1896. 

(8) Leopold, Lewis. Prestige. A psychological study of social esti- 
mates. London, 1913. 

(9g) Clayton, Joseph. Leaders of the People. Studies in democratic 
history. London, 1910. 


SOCIAL CONTROL 855 


(10) Brent, Charles H. Leadership. New York, 1908. 

(11) Bogardus, Emory S. Fundamentals of Social Psychology. Part IV. 
“Leadership and Interstimulation.” Pp. 371-471. New York, 
1924. 

(12) Chapin, F. Stuart. “Leadership and Group Activity,” Journal of 
Applied Sociology, VIII (1923-24), 141-45. 

(13) Rothschild, Alonzo. Lincoln: Master of Men. A_ study in 
character. Boston, 1906. 

(14) Mumford, Eben. The Origins of Leadership. Chicago, 1900. 

(15) Ely, Richard T. The World War and Leadership in a Democracy. 
New York, 1918. ' 

(16) Terman, L. M. “A Preliminary Study of the Psychology and 
Pedagogy of Leadership,” Pedagogical Seminary, XI (1904), 

AI3-5I. 

(17) Miller Arthur H. Leadership. A study and discussion of the 
qualities most to be desired in an officer. New York, 1920. 

(18) Gowin, Enoch B. The Executive and His Control of Men. A 
study in personal efficiency. New York, 1915. 

(19) Cooley, Charles H. ‘Genius, Fame and the ca eS of 
Races,” Annals of American Academy, IX (1897), 317-58. 

(20) Odin, Alfred. Genése des grands hommes, gens de lettres francais 
modernes. Paris, 1895. [See Ward, Lester F., Applied Sociology, 
for a statement in English of Odin’s study.] 

(21) Kostyleff, N. Le Mécanisme cérébral de la pensée. Paris, 1914. 
[This includes a study of the mechanism of the inspiration of poets 
and writers of romance.| 

(22) Chabaneix, Paul. Physiologie cérébrale. Le subconscient chez 
les artistes, les savants, et les écrivains. Bordeaux, 1897-08. 

(23) Follett, M. P. Creative Experience. New York, 1924. 


[See bibliography, “Invention,” p. 431.] 


B. Ceremony, Rites, and Ritual 


(1) Spencer, Herbert. The Principles of Sociology, Pari IV, “‘Cere- 
monial Institutions.”’. Vol. II, pp. 3-225. London, 1893. 

(2) Tylor, Edward B. Primitive Culture. Researches into the 
development of mythology, philosophy, religion, language, art, 
and custom. Chap. xviii, ‘Rites and Ceremonies,” pp. 362-442. 
New York, 1874. 

(3) Frazer, J. G. Totemism and Exogamy. A treatise on certain 
early forms of superstition and society. 4 vols. London, roto. 

(4) Freud, Sigmund. Totem and Taboo. Resemblances between the 
psychic life of savages and neurotics. Authorized translation 
from the German by A. A. Brill. New York, 1918. 

(5) James, E. O. Primitive Ritual and Belief. An anthropological 
essay. With an introduction by R. R. Marett. London, 1917. 

(6) Brinton, Daniel G. The Religious Sentiment: Its Source and Aim. 
A contribution to the science and philosophy of religion. Chap. 
vi, “The Cult, Its Symbols and Rites,” pp. 197-227. New York, 
1876. 


856 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(7) Frazer, J. G. Golden Bough. A study in magic and religion. 
Part VI, “‘The Scapegoat.” 3ded. London, 1913. 

(8) Nassau, R. H. Fetichism in West Africa. Forty years’ observa- 
tion of native customs and superstitions. New York, 1907. 

(9) Hubert, H., and Mauss, M. “‘Essai sur la nature et la fonction 
de sacrifice,” L’ Année sociologique, II (1897-08), 29-138. 

(10) Farnell, L. R. The Higher Aspects of Greek Religion. New York, 
IQI2. 

(11) Farnell, L.R. The Cults of the Greek States. 5 vols. Oxford, 1896- 
1909. 

(12) “Religious and Social Aspects of the Cult of Ancestors 
and Heroes,” Hibbert Journal, VII (1909), 415-35. 

(13) Harrison, Jane E. Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Relator 
Cambridge, 1903. 

(14) De-Marchi, A. I/ Culto privato di Roma antica. Milano, 1896. 


(15) Oldenberg, H. Die Religion des Veda. Part III, “Der Cultus,” 
pp. 302-523. Berlin, 1894. 





C. Taboo 


(1) Thomas, N. W. Article on “Taboo” in Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
XXVI, 337-41. 

(2) Frazer, J. G. The Golden Bough. A study in magic and religion. 
Part I, “Taboo and the Perils of the Soul.” London, rortr. 

(3) Kohler, Josef. Philosophy of Law. “Taboo as a Primitive 
Substitute for Law.” ‘‘Philosophy of Law Series,’ Vol. XII. 
Boston, 1914. [Reprinted in Evolution of Law, U1, 120-21.] 

(4) Crawley, A. E. ‘‘Sexual Taboo,” Journal of Anthropological 
Institute, XXIV (London, 1894), 116-25, 219-35, 430-45. 

(5) Gray, W. ‘“‘Some Notes on the Tannese,” Internationales Archis 
fiir Ethnographie, VII (1894). 232-37. 


(6) Waitz, Theodor, und Gerland, Georg. Anthropologie der Natur- ° 


vilker, VI, 343-63. 6 vols. Leipzig, 1862-77. 

(7) Tuchmann, J. ‘La Fascination,” Mélusine, II (1884-85), 169-175, 
193-98, 241-50, 350-57, 308-76, 385-87, 409-17, 457-64, 517-24; 
III (1886-87), 49-56, 105-9, 319-25, 412-14. 506-8. 

(8) Durkheim, E. ‘La prohibition de linceste et ses origines,” 
L’ Année sociologique, I (1896-97), 38-70. 

(9) Crawley, A. E. ‘‘Taboos of Commensality,” Folk-Lore, VI 
(1895), 130-44. 

(10) Hubert, H., and Mauss, M. “Le Mana,” L’ Année sociologique, 
VII (1902-3), 108-22. 

(11) Codrington, R. H. The Melanesians. Studies in their anthro- 
pology and folk-lore. ‘‘Mana,” pp. 51-58, 90, 103, 115, 118-24, 
IgI, 200, 307-8. Oxford, 1891. 


D. Myths 


(1) Sorel, Georges. Reflections on Violence. Chap. iv, ‘‘The Pro- 
letarian Strike,” pp. 126-67. Translated from the French by 
T. E. Hulme. New York, 1912. 


ee 


SOCIAL CONTROL 857 


(2) Smith, W. Robertson. Lectures on the Religion of the Semites. 
“Ritual, Myth and Dogma,’ pp. 16-24, New ed. London, 
1907. 

(3) Harrison, Jane E. Themis. A study of the social origins of 
Greek religion. Cambridge, ror2. 

(4) Clodd, Edward. The Birth and Growth of Myth. Humboldt 
Library of Popular Science Literature. New York, 1888. 

(5) Gennep, A. van. La Formation des légendes. Paris, 1910. 

(6) Langenhove, Fernand van. The Growth of a Legend. A study 
based upon the German accounts of francs-tireurs and “atrocities” 
in Belgium. With a preface by J. Mark Baldwin. New York, 
1916. 

(7) Case, S.J. The Millennial Hope. Chicago, 1918. 

(8) Abraham, Karl. Dreams and Myths. Translated from _ the 
German by W. A. White. ‘Nervous and Mental Disease Mono- 
graph Series,’ No. 15. Washington, 1913. 

(9) Pfister, Oskar. The Psychoanalytic Method. pean ted from the 
German by C. R. Payne. Pp. 410-15. New York, 1917. 

(10) Jung, C. G. Psychology of the Unconscious. A study of the 
transformations and symbolisms of the libido. A contribution 
to the history ofthe evolution of thought. Authorized translation 
from the German by Beatrice M. Hinkle. New York, 1916. 

(11) Brinton, Daniel G. The Religious Sentiment: Its Source and Aim. 
A contribution to the science and philosophy of religion. Chap. 
v, “The Myth and the Mythical Cycles,” pp. 153-96. New 
York, 1876. 

(12) Rivers, W. H. R. “The Sociological Significance of Myth,” 
Folk-Lore, XXIII (1912), 306-31. 

(13) Rank, Otto. The Myth of the Birth of the Hero. A psychological 
interpretation of mythology. ‘Nervous and Mental Disease 
Monograph Series,’ No. 18. Translated from the German by 
Drs. F. Robbins and Smith E. Jelliffe. Washington, ror4. 

(14) Freud, Sigmund. ‘‘Der Dichter und das Phantasieren,” Samm- 
lung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre. 2d ed. Wien, 1909. 


III. PUBLIC OPINION AND SOCIAL CONTROL 


A. Materials for the Study of Public Opinion 


(1) Lippmann, Walter. Public Opinion. New York, 1922. 

(2) Lowell, A. Lawrence. Public Opinion and Popular Government. 

, New York, 1913. 

(3) Public Opinion in War and Peace. Cambridge, 1923. 

(4) Tonnies, Ferdinand. Kritik der éffentlichen Meinung. Berlin, 
1922. 

(s) Tarde, Gabriel. L’Opinion et la foule. Paris, root. 

(6) Le Bon, Gustave. Les Opinions et les croyances; genése-évolution. 
ae, 1911. [Discusses the formation of public opinion, trends, 
ete 





858 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(7) Bauer, Wilhelm. Die éffentliche Meinung und thre geschichtlichen 
Grundlagen. Tiibingen, ror4. 

(8) Dicey, A. V. Lectures on the Relation between Law and Public 
Opinion in England during the Nineteenth Century. 2d ed. 
London, 1914 Z 

(9) Shepard, W. if “Public Opinion,” American Journal of Sociology, 
XV (1909), 32-60. 

(ro) Tocqueville, Alexius de. The Republic of the United States of 
America. Book IV. “Influence of Democratic Opinion on 
Political Society,” pp. 306-55. 2 vols. in one. New York, 1858. 

(11) Bryce, James. The American Commonwealth, Vol. II, Part IV, 
‘Public Opinion,” pp. 239-64. Chicago, 18o1. 

(12) —. Modern Democracies. 2 vols. New York, 1921. 

(13) Lecky, W. E. H. Democracy and Liberty. New York, 1899. 

(14) Godkin, Edwin L. Unforeseen Tendencies of Democracy. Boston, 
1808. 

(15) Sageret, J. ‘“L’opinion,” Revue philosophique, LXXXVI (10918), 
19-38. 

(16) Bluntschli, Johann K. Article on “Public Opinion,” Lalor’s 
Cyclopaedia of Political Science, Political Economy and of the 
Political History of the United States. Vol. II, pp. 479-80. 

(17) Lewis, George C. An Essay on the Influence of Authority in 
Matters of Opinion. London, 1849. 

(18) Jephson, Henry. The Platform. Its rise and progress. 2 vols. 
London, 1892. 

(19) Junius. (Pseud.) The Letters of Junius. Woodfall’s ed., revised 

y John Wade. 2 vols. London, 1902. 

(20) Woodbury, Margaret. Public Opinion in Philadelphia, 1789-1801. 
“Smith College Studies in History.” Vol. V. Northampton, 
Mass., 1920. 

(21) Krock, Arthur. The Editorials of Henry Watterson. New York, 





1923. 

(22) Heaton, John L. The Story of a Page. Thirty years of public 
service and public discussion in the editorial columns of The 
New York World. New York, 10913. 

(23) Editorials from the Hearst Newspapers. New York, 1906. 

(24) Harrison, Shelby M. Community Action through Surveys. A 
paper describing the main features of the social survey. Russell 
Sage Foundation. New York, 1916. 

(25) Millioud, Maurice. ‘La propagation des idées,” Revue philo- 
sophique, LXIX (1910), 580-600: LXX (1910), 168-01. 

(26) Scott, Walter D. The Theory of Advertising. Boston, 1903. 

[See bibliography, ‘‘ Discussion,” pp. 1649-50.| : 


B. The Newspaper as an Organ of Public Opinion 


(1) Dana, Charles A. The Art of Newspaper Making. New York, 
1895. 

(2) Irwin, Will. “The American Newspaper,” Colliers, XLVI and 
XLVII (1011). [A series of fifteen articles beginning in the issue 
of January 21 and ending in the issue of July 29, rg11.] 


SOCIAL CONTROL 859 


(3) Park, Robert E. The Immigrant Press and Its Control. New 
York, 1922. 

(4) . “The Natural History of the Newspaper,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XXIX (Nov., 1923), 273-89. 

(3) Sinclair, Upton. The Brass Check. A study of American journal- 

ism. Pasadena, 1910. 


(6) Salmon, Lucy M. The Newspaper and the Historian. New York, 


1923. 








F, The Newspaper and Authority. New York, 1924. 

(8) Stead, W. T. “Government by Journalism,’ Contemporary 
Review, XLIX (1886), 653-74. 

(9) Blowitz, Henri G. S. A. O. de. Memoirs of M. de Blowiiz. New 
York, 1903. 

(10) Cook, Edward. Delane of the Times. New York, 1916. 

(11) Trent, William P. Daniel Defoe: How to Know Him. Indian- 
apolis, 1916. 

(12) Stevens, David H. Party Politics and English Journalism, 1702- 
1742. Menasha, Wis., 1916. 

(13) Oberholtzer, E. P. Die Beziehungen zwischen dem Staat und der 
Zeitungspresse 1m Deutschen Reich. Nebst einigen Umrissen fiir 
die Wissenschaft der Journalistik. Berlin, 1895. 

(14) Macdonagh, Michael. The Reporters’ Gallery. London, 1913. 

(15) Lippmann, Walter. Liberty and the News. New York, 1920. 

(16) O’Brien, Frank M. The Story of the Sun, New York, 1883-1918. 
With an introduction by Edward Page Mitchell, editor of The 
Sun. New York, 10918. 

(17) Stone, Melville E. Fifiy Years a Journalist. Garden City, 
1921. 

(18) Nevins, Allan. The Evening Post. A century of journalism. 
New York, 1922. 

(19) Davis, Elmer H. AHistory of the New York Times, 1851-1921. 
New York, 1921. 

(20) Hudson, Frederic. Journalism in the United States, from 1690 to 
1872. New York, 1873. 

(21) Villard, Oswald G. Some Newspapers and Newspapermen. New 
Vouk, 1923: 

(22) Bourne, H. R. Fox. English Newspapers. London, 1887. 

(23) Andrews, Alexander. The History of British Journalism. 2 vols. 
London, 1859. 

(24) Lee, James Melvin. A History of American Journalism. Boston, 
IQI7. 

(25) Harris, Emerson P. and Florence H. The Community Newspaper. 
New York, 1923. 

(26) Christian Literature in Moslem Lands. Joint committee appointed 
by the Committee of Reference and Counsel of the Foreign Mission 
Conference of North America and the Committee on Social and 
Religious Surveys. New York, 1923. 


[See bibliography, ‘‘Language and the Printing Press,” p. 428.| 


860 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


IV. LAW AND SOCIAL CONTROL 


A. The Sociological Conception of Law 


(1) Kelsen, Hans. Der soziologische und der juristische Staatsbegriff. 
Kritische Untersuchung des Verhaltnisses von Staat und Recht. 
Tiibingen, 1922. 

(2) Ehrlich, Eugen. Grundlegen der Soziologie des Rechts. Miinchen, 


1Q13. 

(3) Post, Albert H. ‘‘Ethnological Jurisprudence.” Translated from 
the German by Thomas J. McCormack. Open Court, XI (1897), 
641-53, 718-32. [Reprinted in Evolution of Law, II, 10-36.] 

(4) Vaccaro, M. A. Les Bases sociologiques. Du droit et de Vétat. 
Translated by J. Gaure. Paris, 1808. 

(5s) Duguit, Léon. Law in the Modern State. With introduction by 
Harold Laski. Translated from the French by Frida and Harold 
Laski. New York, rorg. [The inherent nature of law is to be 
found in the social needs of man.| 

(6) Picard, Edmond. Le Droit pur. Secs. 140-54. Paris, 1908. 
[Translated by John H. Wigmore, under the title “Factors of 
Legal Evolution,” in Evolution of Law, III, 163-81.] 

(7) Pound, Roscoe. Interpretations of Legal History. New York, 
1923. 

(8) Pound, Roscoe. The Spirit of the Common Law. Boston, 1921. 

(9) Laski, Harold J. Studies in the Problem of Sovereignty. New 
Haven, 1917. 

(10) Authority in the Modern State. New Haven, r1g19. 

(11) The Problem of Administrative Areas. An essay in 

- reconstruction. Northampton, Mass., 1918. 

(12) Commons, John R. Legal Foundations of Capitalism. New York, 
1924. 

(13) Rational Basis of Legal Institutions. By various authors with 
an editorial preface by John H. Wigmore and Albert Kokurek. New 
York, 1923. 

(14) Follett, M. P. The New State. .Group organization the solution 
of popular government. New York, 1918. 








B. Ancient and Primitive Law : 


(1) Maine, Henry S. Ancient Law. 14th ed. London, 18or. 

(2) Fustel de Coulanges. The Ancient City. A study on the religion, 
laws, and institutions of Greece and Rome. Boston, 1894. 

(3) Kocourek, Albert, and Wigmore, J. H., editors. Sources of Ancient 
and Primitive Law. ‘‘Evolution of Law Series.” Vol. I. Boston, 
IQIS. 

(4) Steinmetz, S. R. Rechtsverhdltnisse von eingeborenen Vélkern in 
Afrika und Oceanien. Berlin, 1903. 

(5) Sarbah, John M. Fanti Customary Law. A brief introduction to 
the principles of the native laws and customs of the Fanti and Akan 
districts of the Gold Coast with a report of some cases thereon 
decided in the law courts. London, 1904. [Reprinted in Evolution 
of Law, I, 326-82.] 


SOCIAL CONTROL 861 


(6) McGee, W J. ‘The Seri Indians,” Seventeenth Annual Report of 
the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1895-96. Part I, pp. 269-95. 
[Reprinted in Evolution of Law, I, 257-78.| 

(7) Dugmore, H. H. Compendium of Kafir Laws and Customs. 
Grahamstown, South Africa, 1906. [Reprinted in Lvolution of 
Law, I, 292-325.] 

(8) Spencer, Baldwin, and Gillen, F. J. The Northern Tribes of Central 
Australia. London, 1904. [Reprinted in Evolution of Law, I, 
213-326.| 

(9) Seebohm, Frederic. Tribal Custom in Anglo-Saxon Law. Being 
an essay supplemental to (1) ‘‘The English Village Community,” 
(2) “The Tribal System in Wales.”’ London, 1902. 

(10) Goitein, H. Primitive Ordeal and Modern Law. London, 
1923. 
[See bibliography, ‘‘The Dual and Ordeal of Battle,” p. 656.] 


C. The History and Growth of Law 


(1) Wigmore, John H. ‘Problems of the Law’s Evolution,” Virginia 
Law Review, IV (1917), 247-72. [Reprinted, in part, in Evolution 
of Law, III, 153-58.] 

(2) Robertson, John M. The Evolution of States. An introduction 
to English Politics. New York, 19173. ; 

(3) Jhering, Rudolph von. The Struggle for Law. Translated from 
the German by John J. Lalor. rst ed. Chicago, 1879. .Chap. i, 
reprinted in Evolution cf Law, III, 440-47.] 

(4) Nardi-Greco, Carlo. Sociologia giuridica. Chap. viii, pp. 310-24. 
Torino, 1907. [Translated by John H. Wigmore under the title 
“Causes for the Variation of Jural Phenomena in General,” in 
Evolution of Law, III, 182-97.] 

(5) Bryce, James. Studies in History and Jurisprudence. Oxford, 


IQOI. 
(6) 





“Tnfluence of National Character and Historical Environ- 

ment on the American Law.” Annual address to the Bar Asso- 

ciation, 1907. Reports. of American Bar Association, XXXI 

(1907), 444-59. [Abridged and reprinted in Evolution of Law, III, 

369-77.] : 

Pollock, Frederick, and Maitland, Frederic W. The History of 

English Law before the Time of Edward I. 2d ed. Cambridge, 

1899. 

(8) Jenks, Edward. Law and Politics in the Middle Ages. With a 
synoptic table of sources. London, 1913. | 

(9) Holdsworth, W. S. <A History of English Law. 3 vols. London, 
1903-9. 

(10) The Modern Legal Philosophy Series. Edited by a committee of 
the Association of American Law Schools. 13 vols. Boston, 
IQII-. 

(11) Continental Legal History Series. Published under the auspices 
of the Association of American Law Schools. 11 vols. Boston, 
IQI2-. 


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INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(12) Select Essays in Anglo-American Legal History. Compiled and 
edited by a committee of the Association of American Law 
Schools. 3 vols. Boston, 1907-9. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES. 


. Social Interaction and Social Control 

. Social Control as the Central Fact and the Central Problem of Sociology 
. Social Control, Collective Behavior, and Progress 

. Manipulation and Participation as Forms of Social Control 

. Social Control and Self-Control 

. Accommodation as Control 

. Elementary Forms of Social Control: Ceremony, Fashion, Prestige, 


and Taboo, etc. 


. Traditional Forms of Control, as Folkways, Mores, Myths, Law, 


Education, Religion, etc. 


. Rumors, News, Facts, etc., as Forms of Control 


Case Studies of the Influence of Myths, Legends, ‘‘ Vital Lies,” etc., on 
Collective Behavior 

The Newspaper as Controlling and as Controlled by Public Opinion 
Gossip as Social Control 

Social Control in the Primary Group in the Village Community as 
Compared with Social Control in the Secondary Group in the City 

An Analysis of Public Opinion in a Selected Community 

The Politician and Public Opinion ’ 

The Social Survey as a Mechanism of Social Control 

A Study of Common Law and Statute Law from 8 Standpoint of 
Mores and Public Opinion 

A Concrete Example-of Social Change Analyzed in Terms of Mores, 
the Trend, and Public Opinion, as Woman’s Suffrage, Prohibition, the 
Abolition of Slavery, Birth Control, etc. 

The Life History of an Institution from the Standpoint of Its Origin 
and Survival as an Agency of Control 

Unwritten Law; a Case Study 

Legal Fictions and Their Function in Legal Practice 

The Sociology of Authority in the Social Group and in the State 
Maine’s Conception of Primitive Law 

The Greek Conception of Themistes and Their Relation to Code of Solon 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand by social control ? 
. What do you mean by elementary social control? How would you 


distinguish it from control exercised by public opinion and law? 


SOCIAL CONTROL 863 


. How does social control in human society differ from that in animal 


society ? 


. What is the natural history of social control in the crowd and the 


public? 


. What is the fundamental mechanism by which control is established 


in the group P 


. How do you explain the process by which a crisis develops in a social 


group? How is crisis related to control? 


. Under what conditions is a dictatorship a necessary form of control? 


Why? 


8. In what way does the crowd control its members ? 
9. Describe and analyze your behavior in a crowd. Were you conscious 


Io. 
II. 
I2. 


gy 


14. 
DS; 
16. 


17. 


18. 


19. 
20. 


21. 
22. 


as. 
24. 


25. 
26. 
27. 
28. 
29. 


30. 


of control by the group ? 

What is the mechanism of control in the public? 

In what sense is ceremony a control ? 

How do music, rhythm, and art enter into social control ? 

Analyze the mechanism of the following forms of ceremonial control: 
the salute, the visit, the decoration, forms of address, presents, greet- 
ings. What other forms of ceremonial control occur to you? 

What is the relation of fashions to ceremonial control ? 

What is the meaning to the individual of ceremony ? 

What are the values and limitations of ceremonial control ? 

What do you understand by “prestige” in interpreting control through 
leadership ? 

In what sense is prestige an aspect of personality ? 

What relation, if any, is there between prestige and prejudice ? 

How do you explain the prestige of the white man in South East Africa ? 
Does the white man always have prestige among colored races? 

What is the relation of taboo to contact? (See pp. 291--93.) 

Why does taboo refer both to things “holy” and things ‘‘ unclean”? ? 
How does taboo function for social control ? 

Describe and analyze the mechanism of control through taboo in a 
selected group. 

What examples do you discover of American taboos ? 

What is the mechanism of control by the myth? 

“Myths are projections of our hopes and of our fears.”’?’ Explain with 
reference to the Freudian wish. 

How do you explain the growth of a legend? Make an analysis of the 
origin and development of the legend. 

Under what conditions does the press promote the growth of myths 
and legends ? 

Does control by public opinion exist outside of democracies ? 


864 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


31. What is the relation of the majority and the minority to public opinion ? 

32. What is the distinction made by Lowell between (a) an effective 
majority, and (b) a numerical majority, with reference to public 
opinion ? 

33. What is the relation of mores to public opinion ? 

34. How do you distinguish between public opinion, advertising, and 
propaganda as means and forms of social control ? 

35. What is the relation of news to social control ? 

36. ‘The news columns are common carriers.”” Discuss the implications of 
this statement. 

37. How do you explain the psychology of propaganda ? 

38. What is the relation between institutions and the mores ? 

39. What is the nature of social control exerted by the institution ? 

4o. What is the relation of mores to common law and statute law ? 

41. ‘‘Under the free Anglo-Saxon government, no king could ever make a 
law, but could only declare what the law was.” Discuss the significance 
of this fact. 

42. In what different ways does religion control the behavior of the indi- 
vidual and of the group? 

43. Is religion a conservative or a progressive factor in society ? 


v 








CHAPTER XIII 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 
I. INTRODUCTION 
“x. Collective Behavior Defined 


i A collection of individuals is not always, and by the mere fact 


of its collectivity, a society. On the other hand, when people come 
together anywhere, in the most casual way, on the street corner or at 
a railway station, no matter how great the social distances between 
them, the mere fact that they are aware of one another’s presence sets 
up a lively exchange of influences, and the behavior that ensues is both 
social and collective. It is social, at the very least, in the sense that 
the train of thought and action in each individual is influenced more 
or less by the action,of every other. It is collective in so far as each 
individual acts under the influence of a mood or a state of mind 
in which each shares, and in/ accordance with conventions which all 
quite unconsciously accept, ang which the presence of each enforces 
upon the others. 

The amount of individual eccentricity or deviation from normal 
and accepted modes of behavior which a community will endure 
without comment and without protest will vary naturally enough 
with the character of the community. A cosmopolitan community 
like New York City can and does endure a great deal in the way of 
individual eccentricity that a smaller city like Boston would not 
“olerate. In any case, and-tttis is the point of these observations, 


even in the most casual relations of life, people do not behave in the 


presence of others as if they were living alone like Robinson Crusoe, 
each on his individual island. The very fact of their consciousness 
of each other tends to maintain and enforce a great body of convention 
and usage which otherwise falls into abeyance and is forgotten. 
Collective behavior, then, is the behavior-6f individuals under the» 
influence of an impulse that is common and collective, an impulse, | 
in other words, that is the result of social interaction. 


865 








866 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


2. Social Unrest and Collective Behavior 


The most elementary form of collective behavior seems to be what 
is ordinarily referred to as “social unrest.” Unrest in the individual 
becomes social ‘when it is, or seems to be, transmitted from one 
individual to another, but more particularly when it produces some- 
thing akin to the milling process in the herd, so that the manifestations 
of discontent in A communicated to B, and from B reflected back to 
A, produce the circular reaction described in the preceding chapter. 

The significance of social unrest is that it represents at once a 
breaking up of the established routine and a preparation for new 
collective action. Social unrest is not of course a new phenomenon; 
it is possibly true, however, that it is peculiarly characteristic, as has 
been said, of modern life. The contrast between the conditions of 
modern life and of primitive society suggests why this may be true. 

The conception which we ought to form of primitive society, says 
Sumner, is that of small groups scattered over a territory. The size 
of the group will be determined by the conditions of the struggle for 
existence and the internal organization of each group will correspond 
(1) to the size of the group, and (2) to the nature and intensity of the 
struggle with its neighbors. 


Thus war and peace have reacted on each other and developed each 
other, one within the group, the other in the intergroup relation. The 
closer the neighbors, and the stronger they are, the intenser is the warfare, 
and then the intenser is the internal organization and discipline of each. 
Sentiments are produced to correspond. Loyalty to the group, sacrifice 
for it, hatred and contempt for outsiders, brotherhood within, warlikeness 
without—all grow together, common products of the same situation. 
These relations and sentiments constitute a social philosophy. It is sancti- 
fied by connection with religion. Men of an others-group are outsiders 
with whose ancestors the ancesiors of the we-group waged war. The ghosts 
of the latter will see with pleasure their descendants keep up the fight, 
and will help them. Virtue consists in killing, plundering, and enslaving 
outsiders.* 


The isolation, territoria).and cultural, under which alone it is 
possible to maintain an organization which corresponds to Sumner’s 
description, has disappeared within comparatively recent times from 


™W. G. Sumner, Folkways. A study of the sociological importance of 
usages, manners, customs, mores, and morals, pp. 12-13. (Boston, 1906.) 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 867 


all the more inhabitable portions of the earth. In place of it there 
has come, and with increasing rapidity is coming, into existence a 
society which includes within its limits the total population of the 
earth and is so intimately bound together that the speculation of a 
grain merchant in Chicago may increase the price of bread in Bombay, 
while the act of an assassin in a provincial town in the Balkans has 
been sufficient to plunge the world into a war which changed the politi- 
cal map of three continents and cost the lives, in Europe alone, of 
8,500,000 combatants. 

The first effect of modern conditions of life has been to increase 
and vastly complicate the economic interdependence of strange and 
distant peoples, i.e., to destroy distances and make the world, as far 
as national relations are concerned, small and tight. 

The second effect has been to break down family, local, and 
national ties, and emancipate the individual man. 

When the family ceases, as it does in the city, to be an economic unit, 
when parents and children have vocations that not only ‘intercept the 
traditional relations of family life, but make them well nigh impossible, 
the family ceases to function as an organ of social control. When the 
different nationalities, with their different national cultures, have so far 
interpenetrated one another that each has permanent colonies within the 
territorial limits of the other, it is inevitable that the old solidarities, the 


common loyalties and the common hatreds that formerly bound men 
together in primitive kinship and local groups should be undermined. 


A survey of the world today shows that vast changes are every- 
where in progress. Not only in Europe but in Asia and in Africa new 
cultural contacts have undermined and broken down the old cultures. 
The effect has been to loosen all the social bonds and reduce society 
to its individual atoms. ‘The energies thus freed have produced a 
world-wide ferment. Individuals released from old associations enter 
all the more readily into new ones. Out of this confusion new and 
strange political and religious movements arise, which represent the 
groping of men for a new social order. 


L- 
3. The Crowd and the Public 


Gustave Le Bon, who was the first writer to call attention to 
the significance of the crowd as a social phenomenon,’ said that — 


t Scipio Sighele, in a note to the French edition of his Psychology of Sect 
claims that his volume, La Folla delinquente, of which the second edition | 
; eae p 







~ 


“4 } 
t ct 


‘. a 
i 
i f, 





868 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


mass movements mark the end of an old régime and the beginning 
of a new. 

“When the structure of a civilization is rotten, it is always the 
masses that bring about its downfall.”* On the other hand, “all 
founders of religious or political creeds have established them solely 
because they were successful in inspiring crowds with those fanatical 
sentiments which have as result that~men find their happiness in 
worship and obedience and are ready to lay down their lives for their 
idol,’ 

* The crowd was, for Le Bon, not merely any group brought together 
by the accident of some chance excitement, but it was above all the 
emancipated masses whose bonds of loyalty to the old order had been 
broken by “the destruction of those religious, political, and social 
beliefs in which all the elements of our civilization are rooted.”’ \‘The 

—™* crowd, in other words, typified for Le Bon the existing social order. | 
Ours is an age of crowds, he said, an age in which men, massed and 
herded together in great cities without real convictions or funda- 
mental faiths, are likely to be stampeded in any direction for any 
chance purpose under the influence of any passing excitement. / 

Le Bon did not attempt to distinguish between the crowd and the 
public. This distinction was first made by Tarde in a paper entitled 
“Le Public et la foule,”’ published first in La Revue de Paris in 1808, 
and included with several others on the same general theme under 
the title L’Opinion et la foule which appeared in 1901. The public, 
according to Tarde, was a product of the printing press. The limits 
of the crowd are determined by the length to which a voice will carry 
or the distance that the eye can survey. 4 But the public presupposes 

(& higher stage of social development in which suggestions are trans- 
mitted in the form of ideas and there is “contagion without contact.’ 


published at Turin in 1895, and his article “ Physiologie du suieeesi%? in the Revue 
des Revues, 3s 1, 1894, were the first attempts to describe the crowd from the 
point of view of collective psychology. Le Bon published two articles, ‘‘ Psycholo- 
gie des foules”’ in the Revue scientifique, April 6 and 20, 1895. These were later 
gathered together in his volume Psychologie des foules, Paris, 1895. See Sighele 
Psychologie des sectes, pp. 25, 39. 


t Gustave Le Bon, Tice Crowd. A study of the popular mind, p. 1g. (New 
York, 1900.) ; : 


2 Tbid., p. 83. 3 LO pinion et la foule, pp. 6-7. (Paris, 1901.) 


\ 


’ 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 869 


The fundamental distinction between the crowd and the public, 
however, is not to be measured by numbers nor by means of commu- 
nication, but by the form and effects of the interactions. In the 
public, interaction takes the form of discussion. Individuals tend to 
act upon one another critically; issues are raised and parties form. 
Opinions clash and thus modify and moderate one another. 

The crowd does not discuss and hence it does not reflect. It 
simply ‘mills.’ Out of this milling process a collective impulse is 
formed which dominates all members of the crowd. - pile when 
they act, do so duupulstyely: , rhe crowd, says Le Bon, “‘is the slave 
of its impulses.” 

“The varying impulses which crowds obey may be, according to 
their exciting causes, generous or cruel, heroic or cowardly, but they 
will always be so imperious that the interest of the individual, even 
the interest of self-preservation, will not dominate them.” 

When the crowd acts it becomeggf\mob. What happens when 


two mobs meet? We have in lig re no definite record. The 
yaal accounts we find in the 


nearest approach to it are the occa : 
Onflicts of armies of primitive 












stories of travelers of the contacts an@® 
peoples. These undisciplined hordes are, as compared with the 
armies of civilized peoples, little more than armed mobs. Captain 
S. L. Hinde in his story of the Belgian conquest of the Congo describes 
several such battles. From the descriptions of battles carried on 
almost wholly between savage and undisciplined troops it 4 evident 
that the\morale of an army of savages is a precarious thing,/ A very : 
large part of the warfare consists in alarms and excursions inter- 
spersed with wordy duels to keep up the courage on one side and 


cause a corresponding depression on the other.’ 
ee eae oO eee eee ane 


t The Crowd, p. 41. 


2 Sidney L. Hinde, The Fall of the Congo Arabs, p. 147. (London, 1897.) 
Describing a characteristic incident in one of the strange confused battles Hinde 
says: ‘‘Wordy war, which also raged, had even more effect than our rifles. Ma- 
homedi and Sefu led the Arabs, who were jeering and taunting Lutete’s people, 
saying that they were in a bad case, and had better desert the white man, who was 
ignorant of the fact that Mohara with all the forces of Nyange was camped in his 
rear. Lutete’s people replied: ‘Oh, we know all about Mohara; we ate him the 
day before yesterday.’” This news became all the more depressing when it 
turned out to he" ™s.also Hirn, The Origins of Art, p. 269, for an explana- 


tion of t¥ — ‘tings in savage warfare. 





870 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Gangs are conflict groups. Their organization is usually quite 
informal and is determined by the nature and imminence of the con- 
flicts with other groups. When one crowd encounters another it 
either goes to pieces or it changes its character and becomes a conflict 
group. When negotiations and palavers take place as they eventually 
do between conflict groups, these two groups, together with the 
neutrals who have participated vicariously in the conflict, constitute 
a public. It is possible that the two opposing savage hordes which 
seek, by threats and boastings and beatings of drums, to play upon 
each other’s fears and so destroy each other’s morale, may be said to 
constitute a very primitive type of public. 

Discussion, as might be expected, takes curious and interesting 
forms among primitive peoples. In a volume, Jz Derevni: 12 Pisem 
(“From the Country: 12 Letters”), A. N. Engelgardt describes the 
way. in which the Slavic ed reach their decisions in the village 
council. ae 

In the discussion of some questions by the mur [organization of neighbors] 
there are no speeches, no debates, no votes. They shout, they abuse one 
another—they seem on the point of coming to blows; apparently they riot 
in the most senseless manner. Some one preserves silence, and then 
suddenly puts in a word, one word, or an ejaculation, and by this word, 
this ejaculation, he turns the whole thing upside down. In the end, you 
look into it and find that an admirable decision has been formed and, what 
is most important, a unanimous decision. . . (in the division of land) 
the cries, the noise, the hubbub do not ot subside until everyone is satisfied 
and no doubter is left.t 


4. Crowds and Sects 


OOD LT iG OOO LEA LOO ay 


Reference has been made to the crowds that act, but ‘crowds do not 
te" always act. Sometimes they merely dance or, at least, make expres- 
sive) motions which relieve their feelings. “The purest and most 
tyT pical expression of simple feeling,” as Hirn remarks, “is that which 
2G oe motions assume, 


ence in time, that is 








COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 871 


by a sort of inner compulsion, imitated by the onlookers. “As soon 
as the expression is fixed in rhythmical form its contagious power is 
incalculably increased.’ 

This explains at once the function and social importance of the 
dance among primitive people. It is the form in which they prepare 
for battle and celebrate their victories. Jt gives the form at once to 
their religious ritual and to their art. fone the influence of the 
memories and the emotions which these dances stimulate the primitive 
group achieves a sense of corporate unity, which makes corporate 
action possible outside of the fixed and sacred routine of ordinary 
daily life. 

If it is true, as has been suggested, that art and religion had their 
origin in the choral dance one? is also true that in modern times religious 
sects and social movements have had their origin in crowd excite- 
ments and spontaneous mass movements. The very names which 
have been commonly applied to them—Quakers, Shakers, Convul- 
sionaires, Holy Rollers—suggest not merely the derision 1 with which 
they were at one time regarded, but indicate likewise their origin in 
ecstatic or expressive crowds, the crowds that do noi act. 

All great mass movements tend to display, to a greater or less 
extent, the characteristics that Le Bon attributes to crowds. Speak- 
ing of the convictions of crowds, Le Bon says: 


When these convictions are closely examined, whether at epochs 
marked by fervent religious faith, or by great political upheavals such as 
those of the last century, it is apparent that they always assume a peculiar 
form which I cannot better define than by giving it the name of a religious 
sentiment.? | 


Le Bon’s definition of religion and religious sentiment will hardly 
find general acceptance but it indicates at any rate his conception 
of the extent to which! individual a involved in the 
excitements . 









A person is : gious solely when he worships a divinity, but when 
he puts all the. rces of his mind, the complete submission of his will, 
and the whole-souled ardour of fanaticism.at the service of a cause or an 


individual who becomes the goal and guide actions.3 





872 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Just as the gang may be regarded as the perpetuation and per- 
manent form of “the crowd that acts,” so the sect, religious or politi- 
cal, may be regarded as a perpetuation and permanent form of the 
orgiastic (ecstatic) or expressive crowd. 

“The sect,” says Sighele, ‘is a crowd ériée, selected, and per- 
manent; the crowd is a transient sect, which does not select its mem- 
bers. The sect is the chronic form of the crowd; the crowd is the 
acute form of the sect.”* It is Sighele’s conception that the crowd is 
an elementary organism, from which the sect issues, like the chick 
from the egg, and that all other types of social groups “may, in this 
same manner, be deduced from this primitive social protoplasm.” 
This is a simplification. which the facts hardly justify. It is true that, 
implicit in the practices and the doctrines of a religious sect, there is 
the kernel of a new independent culture. 


5. Sects and Institutions 


A sect is a religious organization that is at war with the existing 
mores. it seeks to cultivate a state of mind and establish a code of 
morals different from that of the world about it and for this it claims 
divine authority. In order to accomplish this end it invariably seeks 
to set itself off in contrast with the rest of the world. ‘The simplest 
and most effective way to achieve this is to adopt a peculiar form of 
dress and speech. This, however, invariably makes its members 
objects of scorn and derision, and eventually of persecution. It 
would probably do this even if there was no assumption of moral 
superiority to the rest of the world in this adoption of a peculiar 
manner and dress. ) 

Persecution tends to dignify and sanctify all the external marks 
of the sect, and it becomes a cardinal principle of the sect to maintain 
them. Any negle them is regarded as disloyalty and is punished 






c 
as heresy. Persecgtion may eventually, as was the case with the 


Puritans, the Quakérs, the Mormons, compel the sect to seek refuge 


in some part of the world where it may practice its way of life in peace. 


Once the sect has achieved territorial isolation and territorial 
solidarity, so that it is the dominant power within the region that it 
occupies, it is able to control the civil organization, establish schools 


t Scipio Sighele, Psychologie des sectes, p. 46. (Paris, 1898.) 


a 


EE 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 873 


and a press, and so put the impress of a peculiar culture upon all the 
civil and political institutions that it controls. In this case it tends 
to assume the form of a state, and become a nationality. Something 
approaching this was achieved by the Mormons in Utah. The most 
striking illustration of the evolution of a nationality from a sect is 
Ulster, which now has a position not quite that of a nation within the 
English empire. 

This sketch suggests that the sect, like most other social institu- 
tions, originates under conditions that are typical for all institutions 
of the same species; then it develops in definite and predictable ways, 
in accordance with a form or entelechy that is predetermined by 
characteristic internal processes and mechanisms, and that has, in 
short, a nature and natural history which can be described and 
explained in sociological terms. Sects hate their origin in social 
unrest to which they give a direction and expression in forms and 
practices that are largely determined by historical circumstances; 
movements which were at first inchoate impulses and aspirations 
gradually take form; policies are defined, doctrine and dogmas formu- 
lated; and eventually an administrative machinery and efficiensies 
are developed to carry into effect policies and purposes. The Salva- 
tion Army, of which we have a more adequate history than of most 
other religious movements, is an example. 

A sect in its final form may be described, then, as a movement of 


e ° i. MS fk tn pea A vit 
social r and regeneration that has become institutionalized. 


Eventually, when it has succeeded in accommodating itself to the 
other rival organizations, when it has become tolerant and is tolerated, 
it tends to assume the form of a denomination. Denominations tend 
and are perhaps destined to unite in the form of religious federations— 
a thing which is inconceivable of a sect. 

What is true of the sect, we may assume, and must assume if 
social movements are to become subjects for sociological investigation, 
is true of other social institutions. Existing institutions represent 
social movements that survived the conflict of cultures and the 
struggle for existence. 7 

Sects, and that is what characterizes and distinguishes them from 
secular institutions, at least, have had their origin in movements that 
aimed to reform the mores—movements that sought to renovate and 
renew the inner life of the community. They have wrought upon 


eh 
vr 


874 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


society from within outwardly. Revolutionary and reform move- 
ments, on the contrary, have been directed against the outward fabric 
and formal structure of society. Revolutionary movements in 
particular have assumed that if the existing structure could be 
destroyed it would then be possible to erect a new moral order upon 
the ruins of the old social structures. 

A cursory survey of the history of revel Honale suggests that the 
most radical and the most successful of them have been religious. Of 
this type of revolution Christianity is the most conspicuous example. 


— 


6. Classification of the Materials 


The materials in this chapter have been arranged under the 
headings: (a) social contagion, (b) the crowd, and (c) types of mass 
movements. ‘The order of materials follows, in a general way, the 
order of institutional evolution. Social unrest is_ first communi- 
cated, then takes form in crowd and mass movements, a and finally 
crystallizes in institutions. The history of almost any single social 
movement—woman’s suffrage, prohibition, protestantism—exhibits in 
a general way, if not in detail, this progressive change in character. 
There is at first a vague general discontent and distress. Then a 
violent, confused, and disorderly, but enthusiastic and popular move- 
ment arises. Finally the movement takes form; develops leadership, 
organization; formulates doctrines and dogmas. Eventually it is 
accepted, established, legalized. The movement dies, but the 
institution remains. 

a) Social contagion—The ease and the rapidity with which a 
cultural trait originating in one cultural group finds its way to other 
distant groups is familiar to students of folklore and ethnology. The 
manner in which fashions are initiated in some metropolitan commu- 
nity, and thence make their way, with more or less rapidity, to the 
provinces is an illustration of the same phenomenon in a different 
context. 


Fashion plays a much larger réle in social life than most of us imagine. 
Fashion dominates our manners and dress but it influences also our senti- 
ments and our modes of thought. Everything in literature, art or phi- 
losophy that was characteristic of the middle of the nineteenth century, the 
“‘mid-Victorian peviod,” is now quite out of date and no one who is intelli- 
gent now-a-days practices the pruderies, defends the doctrines, nor shares 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 876 


the enthusiasms of that period. Philosophy, also, changes with the fashion 
and Sumner says that even mathematics and science do the same. Lecky 
in his history of Rationalism in Europe describes in great detail how the 
belief in witches, so characteristic of the Middle Ages, gradually disappeared 
with the peried of enlightenment and progress.t But the enlightenment 
of the eighteenth century was itself a fashion and is now quite out of date. 
In the meantime a new popular and scientific interest is growing up in 
obscure mental phenomena which no man with scientific training would 
have paid any attention to a few years ago because he did not believe in 
such things. It was not good form to do so. 


But the changes of fashion are so pervasive, so familiar, and, 
indeed, universal phenomena that we do not regard the changes which 
they bring, no matter how fantastic, “as quite out of the usual and 
expected order. Gabriel Tarde, however, regards the “social con- 
tagion”’ represented in fashion (imitation) as the fundamental social 
phenomenon.? 

The term social epidemic, which is, like fashion, a form of social 
contagion, has a different origin and a Gitemennteatinotation: i (eel OA 
Hecker, whose study of the Dancing Mania of the Middle Ages, 
published in 1832, was an incident of his investigation of the Black 
Death, was perhaps the first to give currency to the term. Both the 
Black Death and the Dancing Mania assumed the form of epidemics 
and the latter, the Dancing Mania, was in his estimation’ the sequel 
of the former, the Black Death. It was perhaps this sirilarity in 
the manner in which they spread—the one by physical and the other 
by psychical infection—that led him to speak of the spread of a popu- 
lar delusion in terms of a physical science. Furthermore, the hysteria 
was directly traceable, as he believed, to the prevailing conditions of the 
time, and this seemed to put the manifestations in the world of intelli- 
gible and controllable phenomena, where they could be investigated. 

It is this notion, then, that unrest which manifests itself in social 
epidemics is an indication of pathological social conditions, and the 

tW. E. H. Lecky, History of the Rise and Influence of the Spirit of Rationalism 
in Europe. 2 vols. (Vol. I.) (New York, 1866.) 

2 See Gabriel Tarde, Laws of Imitation. 


3 J. F. C. Hecker, Die Tanzwuth, eine Volkskrankheit im Mittelalter. (Berlin, 
1832.) See Introduction of The Black Death and the Dancing Mania. ‘Translated 
from the German by B. G. Babington. Cassell’s National Library. (New York, 
1888.) 


876 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


further, the more general, conception that unrest does not become 
social and hence contagious except when there are contributing causes 
in the environment—it is this that gives its special significance to the 
term and the facts. Unrest in the social organism with the social 
ferments that it induces is like fever in the individual organism, a 
highly important diagnostic symptom. 

b) The crowd.—Neither Le Bon nor any of the other writers upon 
the subject of mass psychology has succeeded in distinguishing 
clearly between the organized or “psychological”? crowd, as Le Bon 
calls it, and other similar types of social groups. These distinctions, 
if they are to be made objectively, must be made on the basis of case 
studies. It is the purpose of the materials under the general heading 
of “The ‘Animal’ Crowd,” not so much to furnish a definition, as to 
indicate the nature and sources of materials from which a definition 
can be formulated. It is apparent that the different animal groups 
behave in ways that are distinctive and characteristic, ways which are 
predetermined in the organism to an extent that is not true of human 
beings. 

One other distinction may possibly be made between the so-called 
“animal” and the human crowd. \ The organized crowd is controlled 
by @ common purpose and acts to achieve, no matter how vaguely it 
is defined, a common end. ‘The herd, on the other hand, has appar- 
ently no common purpose. Every sheep in the flock, at least as the 
behavior of the flock is ordinarily interpreted, behaves like every 
other. Action in a stampede, for example, is collective but it is not 
concerted. It is very difficult to understand how there can be con- 
certed action in the herd or the flock unless it is on an instinctive basis. 
The crowd, however, responds to collective representations. The 
crowd does not imitate or follow its leader as sheep do a bellwether. 
On the contrary, the crowd carries out the suggestions of the leader, and 
even though there be no division of labor each individual acts more 
or less in his own way to achieve a common end. 

In the case of a panic or a stampede, however, where there is no 
common end, the crowd acts like a flock of sheep. But a stampede 
or a panic is not a crowd in Le Bon’s sense. It is not a psychological 
unity, nor a “single being,” subject to “the mental unity of crowds.”* 
The panic is the crowd in dissolution. All effective methods of 


Le Bon, op. cit, p. 26. 


ie 


oe ta 


mae 


a 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 877 


dispersing crowds involve some method of distracting attention, 
breaking up the tension, and dissolving the mob into its individual 
units. . 

c) Types of mass movements—The most elementary form of mass 
movement is a mass migration. Such a mass movement displays, in 
fact, many of the characteristics of the “animal” crowd. It is the 
“human” herd. The migration of a people, either as individuals or 
in organized groups, may be compared to the swarming of the hive. 
Peoples migrate in search of better living conditions, or merely in 
search of new experience. It is usually the younger generation, the 
more restless, active, and adaptable, who go out from the security of 
the old home to seek their fortunes in the new. Once settled on the 
new land, however, immigrants inevitably remember and idealize the 
home they have left. Their first disposition is to reproduce as far as 
_ possible in the new world the institutions and the social order of the 
old. Just as the spider spins his web out of his own body, so the 
immigrant tends to spin out of his experience and traditions, a social 
organization which reproduces, as far as circumstances will permit, 
the organization and the life of the ancestral community. In this 
way the older culture is transplanted and renews itself, under some- 
what altered circumstances, in the new home. That explains, in part, 
at any rate, the fact that migration tends to follow the isotherms, 
since all the more fundamental cultural devices and experience are 
likely to be accommodations to geographical and climatic conditions. 

In contrast with migrations are movements which are sometimes 
referred to as crusades, partly because of the religious fervor and 
fanaticism with which they are usually conducted and partly because 
they are an appeal to the masses of the people for direct action and 
depend for their success upon their ability to appeal to some universal 
human interest or to common experiences and interests that are 
keenly comprehended by the common man. 

The Woman’s Christian Temperance Crusade, referred to in the 
materials, may be regarded, if we are permitted to compare great 
_ things with small, as an illustration of collective behavior not unlike 
the crusades of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. 

- Crusades are reformatory and religious. This was true at any 
rate of the early crusades, inspired by Peter the Hermit, whatever 
may have been the political purposes of the popes who encouraged 


a 
¢ 


878 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


them. It was the same motive that led the people of the Middle 
Ages to make pilgrimages which led them to join the crusades. At 
bottom it was an inner restlessness, that sought peace in great hard- 
ship and inspiring action, which moved the masses. 

Somewhat the same widespread contagious restlessness is the 
source of most of our revolutions. It is not, however, hardships and 
actual distress that inspire revolutions but hopes and dreams, dreams 
which find expression in those myths and ‘vital lies,’’ as Vernon Lee 
calls them,? which according to Sorel are the only means of moving 
the masses. 

The distinction between crusades, like the Woman’s Temperance 
Crusade, and revolutions, like the French Revolution, is that one is a 
radical attempt to correct a recognized evil and the other is a radical 
attempt to reform an existing social order. 


Il. MATERIALS 


A. SOCIAL CONTAGION 
1. An Incident in a Lancashire Cotton Mill? 


At a cotton manufactory at Hodden Bridge, in Lancashire, a girl, 
on the fifteenth of February, 1787, put a mouse into the bosom of 
another girl, who had a great dread of mice. The girl was immediately 
thrown into a fit, and continued in it with the most violent convul- 
sions for twenty-four hours. On the following day three more girls 


were seized in the same manner; and on the seventeenth, six more. © 


By this time the alarm was so great that thé whole work, in which 
200 or 300 were employed, was totally stopped, and an idea prevailed 
that a particular disease had been introduced by a bag of cotton 
opened in the house. On Sunday, the eighteenth, Dr. St. Clare was 
sent for from Preston; before he arrived three more were seized, 
and during that night and the morning of the nineteenth, eleven more, 
making in all twenty-four. Of these, twenty-one were young women, 
two were girls of about ten years of age, and one man, who had been 
much fatigued with holding the girls. Three of the number lived 


*Vernon Lee [pseud.], Vital Lies. Studies of some varieties of recent 
obscurantism. (London, 1912.) 


2'Taken from Gentleman’s Magazine, March, 1787, p. 268. 


oOo = 
. 7 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 879 


about two miles from the place where the disorder first broke out, 
and three at another factory in Clitheroe, about five miles distant, 
which last and two more were infected entirely from report, not 
having seen the other patients, but, like them and the rest of the 
country, strongly impressed with the idea of the plague being caught 
from the cotton. The symptoms were anxiety, strangulation, and 
very strong convulsions; and these were so violent as to last without 
any intermission from a quarter of an hour to twenty-four hours, 
and to require four or five persons to prevent the patients from 
tearing their hair and dashing their heads against the floor or walls. 
Dr. St. Clare had taken with nim a portable electrical machine, and 
by electric shocks the patients were universally relieved without 
exception. As soon as the patients and the country were assured 
that the complaint was merely nervous, easily cured, and not intro- 
duced by the cotton, no fresh person was affected. To dissipate 
their apprehension still further, the best effects were obtained by 
causing them to take a cheerful glass and join ina dance. On Tuesday, 
the twentieth, they danced, and the next day were all at work, except 
two or three, who were much weakened by their fits. 


2. The Dancing Mania of the Middle Ages’ 


So early as the year 1374, assemblages of men and women were 
seen at Aix-la-Chapelle who had come out of Germany and who, 
united by one common delusion, exhibited to the public both in the 
streets and in the churches the following strange spectacle. They 
formed circles hand in hand and, appearing to have lost all control . 
over their senses, continued dancing, regardless of the by-standers, 
for hours together in wild delirium, until at length they fell to the 
ground in a state of exhaustion. While dancing they neither saw 
nor heard, being insensible to external impressions through the 
senses, but were haunted by visions, their fancies conjuring up 
spirits whose names they shrieked out; and some of them afterward 
asserted, that they felt as if they had been immersed in a stream of 
blood, Pgh bt them to leap so high. Others, during the 
paroxysm, sa the/heavens open and the Saviour enthroned with 


t Adapted from J. F. C. Hecker, The Black Death, and the Dancing Mania, 
pp. 106-11. (Cassell & Co., 1888.) 


880 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the Virgin Mary, according as the religious notions of the age were 
strangely and variously reflected in their imaginations. 

Where the disease was completely developed, the attack com- 
menced with epileptic convulsions. Those affected fell to the ground . 
senseless, panting and laboring for breath. They foamed at the 
mouth, and suddenly springing up began their dance amid strange 
contortions. Yet the malady doubtless made its appearance very 
variously, and was modified by temporary or local circumstances, 
whereof non-medical contemporaries but imperfectly noted the 
essential particulars, accustomed as they were to confound their 
observation of natural events with their notions of the world of 
spirits. 

It was but a few months ere this demoniacal disease had spread 
from Aix-la-Chapelle, where it appeared in July, over the neighboring 
Netherlands. Wherever the dancers appeared, the people assembled 
in crowds to gratify their curiosity with the frightful spectacle. At 
length the increasing number of the affected excited no less anxiety 
than the attention that was paid to them. In towns and villages 
they took possession of the clings processions were every- 
where instituted on their account, af¥l masses were said and hymns 
were sung, while the disease itself, of the demoniacal origin of which 
no one entertained the least doubt, excited everywhere astonishment 
and horror. In Liége the priests had recourse to exorcisms and 
endeavored by every means in their power to allay an evil which 
threatened so much danger to themselves; for the possessed, assem- 
bling in multitudes, frequently poured forth imprecations against 
them and menaced their destruction. 

A few months after this dancing malady had made its appearance 
at Aix-la-Chapelle, it broke out at Cologne, where the number of 
those possessed amounted to more than five hundred; and about the 
same time at Metz, the streets of which place are said to have been 
filled with eleven hundred dancers. Peasants left their plows, 
mechanics their workshops, housewives their domestic duties, to 
join the wild revels, and this rich commercial city became fhe scene 
of the most ruinous disorder. Secret desires were excited and but 
too often found opportunities for wild enjoyment; and numerous 
beggars, stimulated by vice and misery, availed themselves of this 
new complaint to gain a temporary livelihood. “*-'- nd boys 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 881 


quitted their parents, and servants their masters, to amuse them- 
selves at the dances of those possessed, and greedily imbibed the poison 
of mental infection. Above a hundred unmarried women were seen 
raving about in consecrated and unconsecrated places, and the 
consequences were soon perceived. Gangs of idle vagabonds, who 
understood how to imitate to the life the gestures and convulsions 
of those really affected, roved from place to place seeking mainte- 
nance and adventures, and thus, wherever they went, spreading this 
disgusting spasmodic disease like a plague; for in maladies of this 
kind the susceptible are infected as easily by the appearance as by 
the reality. At last it was found necessary to drive away these 
mischievous guests, who were equally inaccessible to the exorcisms 
of the priests and the remedies of the physicians. It was not, how- 
ever, until after four months that the Rhenish cities were able to 
suppress these impostures, which had so alarmingly increased the 
original evil. In the meantime, when once called into existence, the 
plague crept on and found abundant food in the tone of thought which 
prevailed in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and even, though 
in a minor degree, throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth, causing 
a permanent disorder of the mind, and exhibiting, in those cities to 
whose inhabitants it was a novelty, scenes as strange as they were 


detestable. ot Cl es 


B. THE CROWD ace ml 


1. The ‘“‘Animal’’ Crowd 


a. The Flock 


Understand that a flock is not the same thing as a number of 
sheep. On.the stark, wild headlands of the White Mountains, as 
many as thirty Bighorn are known to run in loose, fluctuating hordes; 
in fenced pastures, two to three hundred; close-herded on the range, 
two to three thousand; but however artificially augmented, the flock 
isalwaysa conscious adjustment. There are always leaders, middlers, 
and tailers, each insisting on its own place in the order of going. 
Should tge flock be rounded up suddenly in alarm it mills within 
~ itself until these have come to their own places. 

There is much debate between herders as to the advantage of 
goats over sheep as leaders. In any case there are always a few goats 


* From Mary Austin, The Flock, pp. 110-29. (Houghton Mifflin Co., 1906.) 


882 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY _ 


ina flock, and most American owners prefer them; but the Frenchmen 
choose bell-wethers. Goats lead naturally by reason of a ‘quicker 
instinct, forage more freely, and can find water on their own account. 
But wethers, if trained with care, learn what goats abhor, to take 
broken ground sedately, to walk through the water rather than set 
the whole flock leaping and scrambling; but never to give voice to 
alarm, as goats will, and call the herder. 

It appears that leaders understand their office, and goats particu- 
larly exhibit a jealousy of their rights to be first over the stepping- 
stones or to walk the teetering log-bridges at the roaring creeks. 
By this facile reference of the initiative to the wisest one, the shepherd 
is served most. The dogs learn to which of the flock to communicate 
orders, at which heels a bark or a bite soonest sets the flock in motion. 
But the flock-mind obsesses equally the best-trained, flashes as 
instantly from the meanest of the flock. 

By very little the herder may turn the flock-mind to his advantage, 
but chiefly it works against him. Suppose on the open range the 
impulse to forward movement overtakes them, set in motion by some 
eager leaders that remember enough of what lies ahead to make them 
oblivious to what they pass. They pressahead. The flock draws on. 
The momentum of travel grows. The bells clang soft and hurriedly; 
the sheep forget to feed; they neglect the tender pastures; they will 
not stay to drink. Under an unwise or indolent herder the sheep 
going on an unaccustomed trail will overtravel and underfeed, until 
in the midst of good pasture they starve upon their feet. So it is on 
the Long Trail you so often see the herder walking with his dogs 
ahead of his sheep to hold them bt to feed. But if it should be 
new ground he must go after and press them skilfully, for the flock- 
mind balks chiefly at the unknown. | 

In sudden attacks from several quarters, or inexplicable man- 
thwarting of their instincts, the flock-mind teaches them to turn a 
solid front, revolving about in the smallest compass with the lambs in 
their midst, narrowing and indrawing until they perish by suffocation. 
So they did in the intricate defiles of Red Rock, wheré Carrier lost 
250 in ’74, and at Poison Springs, as Narcisse Duplin told me, where 
he had to choose between leaving them to the deadly waters, or, 
prevented from the spring, made witless by thirst, to mill about until 
they piled up and killed threescore in their midst. By no urgency 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 883 


of the dogs could they be moved forward or scattered until night fell 
with coolness and returning sanity. Nor does the imperfect gre- 
gariousness of man always save us from ill-considered rushes or 
strangulous in-turnings of the social mass. Notwithstanding there 
are those who would have us to be flock-minded. 

It is doubtful if the herder is anything more to the flock than an 
incident of the range, except as a giver of salt, for the only cry they 
make to him is the salt cry. When the natural craving is at the 
point of urgency, they circle about his camp or his cabin, leaving off 
feeding for that business; and nothing else offering, they will continue 
this headlong circling about a bowlder or any object bulking large 
in their immediate neighborhood remotely resembling the appurte- 
nances of man, as if they had learned nothing since they were free 
to find licks for themselves, except that salt comes by bestowal and 
in conjunction with the vaguely indeterminate lumps of matter that 
associate with man. As if in fifty centuries of man-herding they 
had made but one step out of the terrible isolation of brute species, 
an isolation impenetrable except by fear to every other brute, but 
now admitting the fact without knowledge, of the God of the Salt. 
Accustomed to receiving this miracle on open bowlders, when the 
craving is strong upon them, they seek such as these to run about, 
vociferating, as if they said, In such a place our God has been wont 
to bless us, come now, let us greatly entreat Him. This one quavering 
bleat, unmistakable to the sheepman even at a distance, is the only 
new note in the sheep’s vocabulary, and the only one which passes 
with intention from himself to man. As for the call of distress which 
a leader raised by hand may make to his master, it is not new, is not 
common to flock usage, and is swamped utterly in the obsession of 
the flock-mind. 


b. The Herd 


My purpose in this paper is to discuss a group of curious and 
useless emotional instincts of social animals, which have not yet 
been properly explained. Excepting two of the number, placed first 
and last in BENE list, they are not related in their origin; consequently 

ME ined together arbitrarily, only for the reason that 






ym Hudson, “The Strange Instincts of Cattle,” in Longman’s 
Magazine, XVII (1891), 389-91. 


884 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


we are very familiar with them on account of their survival in our 
domestic animals, and because they are, as I have said, useless; also 
because they resemble each other, among the passions and actions of 
the lower animals, in their effect on our minds. This is in all cases 
' unpleasant, and sometimes exceedingly painful, as when species that 
rank next to ourselves in their develeped intelligence and erganized 
societies, sueh as elephants, monkeys, dogs, and cattle, are seen under 
the domination of impulses, in some cases resembling insanity, and 
in others simulating the darkest passions of man. 

These instincts are: 

() The excitement caused by the smell of blood, noticeable in 
horses and cattle among our domestic animals, and varying greatly 
in degree, from an emotion so slight as to be scar eeh perceptible to 
the greatest extremes of rage or terror. 

(2) The angry excitement roused in some animals when a scarlet 
or bright red cloth is shown to them. So well known is this appar- 
ently insane instinct in our cattle that it has given rise to a proverb 
and metaphor familiar in a variety of forms to everyone. 

(3) The persecution of a sick or weakly animal by its companions. 

(4) The sudden deadly fury that seizes on the herd or family at 
the sight of a companion in extreme distress. Herbivorous mammals 
at such times will trample and gore the distressed one to death. In 
the case of wolves, and other savage-tempered carnivorous species, 
the distressed fellow is frequently torn to pieces and devoured on 
the spot. 

To take the first two together. When we consider that blood is 
red; that the smell of it is, or may be, or has been, associated with 
that vivid hue in the animal’s mind; that blood, seen and smelt, is, 
or has been, associated with the sight of wounds and with cries of 
pain and rage or terror from the wounded or captive animal, there 
appears at first sight to be some reason for connecting these two 
instinctive passions as having the same origin—namely, terror and 
rage caused by the sight of a member of the herd struck down and 
bleeding, or struggling for life in the grasp of an enemy. I do not 
mean to say that such an image is actually present in the animal’s 
mind, but that the inherited or instinctive passion is one in kind and 
in its working with the passion of the animal when experience and 
reason were its guides, 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 885 


But the more I consider the point, the more am I inclined to 
regard these two instincts as separate in their origin, although I retain 
the belief that cattle and horses and several wild animals are violently 
excited by the smell of blood for the reason just given—namely, their 
inherited memory associates the smell of blood with the presence 
among them of some powerful enemy that threatens their life. 

The following incident will show how violently this blood passion 
sometimes affects cattle, when they are permitted to exist in a half- 
wild condition, as on the Pampas. I was out with my gun one day, 
a few miles from home, when I came across a patch on the ground 
where the grass was pressed or trodden down and stained with blood. 
I concluded that some thievish Gauchos had slaughtered a fat cow 
there on the previous night, and, to avoid detection, had somehow 
managed to carry the whole of it away on their horses. As I walked 
on, a herd of cattle, numbering about three hundred, appeared moving 
slowly on to a small stream a mile away; they were traveling in a 
thin, long line, and would pass the blood-stained spot at a distance 
of seven to eight hundred yards, but the wind from it would blow 
across their track. When the tainted wind struck the leaders of the 
herd they instantly stood still, raising their heads, then broke out 
into loud, excited bellowings; and finally turning, they started off at 
a fast trot, following up the scent in a straight line, until they arrived 
at the place where one of their kind had met its death. The contagion 
spread, and before long all the cattle were congregated on the fatal 
spot, and began moving round in a dense mass, bellowing continually. 

It may be remarked here that the animal has a peculiar language 
on occasions like this; it emits a succession of short, bellowing cries, 
like excited exclamations, followed by a very loud cry, alternately 
sinking into a hoarse murmur and rising to a kind of scream that 
grates harshly on the sense. Of the ordinary ‘‘cow-music” I am a 
great admirer, and take as much pleasure in it as in the cries and 
melody of birds and the sound of the wind in trees; but this perform- 
ance of cattle excited by the smell of blood is most distressing to hear. 

The animals that had forced their way into the center of the 
- mass to the spot where the blood was, pawed the earth, and dug it 
up with their horns, and trampled each other down in their frantic 
excitement. It was terrible to see and hear them. The action of 
those on the border of the living mass, in perpetually moving round 





886 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


in a circle with dolorous bellowings, was like that of the women in 
an Indian village when a warrior dies, and all night they shriek and 
howl with simulated grief, going round and round the dead man’s hut 
in an endless procession. 


G.'. The Pack* 


Wolves are the most sociable of beasts of prey. Not only do 
they gather in bands, but they arrange to render each other assistance, 
which is the most important test of sociability. The most gray 
wolves I ever saw in a band was five. This was in northern New 
Mexico in January, 1894. The most I ever heard of in a band was 
thirty-two that were seen in the same region. These bands are 
apparently formed in winter only. The packs are probably temporary 
associations of personal acquaintances, for some temporary purpose, 
or passing reason, such as food question or mating-instinct. As soon 
as this is settled, they scatter. 

An instance in point was related to me by Mr. Gordon Wright of 
Carberry, Manitoba. During the winter of 1865 he was logging at 
Sturgeon Lake, Ontario. One Sunday he and some companions 
strolled vut on the ice of the lake to look at the logs there. They 
heard the hunting-cry of wolves, then a deer (a female) darted from 
the woods to the open ice. Her sides were heaving, her tongue out, 
and her legs cut by the slight crust of the snow. Evidently she was 
hard pressed. She was coming toward them, but one of the men 
gave a shout which caused her to sheer off. A minute later six timber 
wolves appeared galloping on her trail, heads low, tails horizontal, and 
howling continuously. They were uttering their hunting-cry, but as 
soon as they saw her they broke into a louder, different note, left the 
trail and made straight for her. .Five of the wolves were abreast 
and one that seemed much darker was behind. Within half a mile 
they overtook her and pulled her down, all seemed to seize her at once. 
For a few minutes she bleated like a sheep in distress; after that the 
only sound was the snarling and the crunching of the wolves as they 
feasted. Within fifteen minutes nothing was left of the deer but hair 
and some of the larger bones, and the wolves fighting among them- 
selves for even these. ‘Then they scattered, each going a quarter of a 


«From Ernest Thompson Seton, “The Habits of Wolves,” in The American 
Magazine, LXIV (1907), 636. 








COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 887 





mile or so, wo in the same direction, and those that remained in 
view curled up there on the open lake to sleep. This happened about 
ten in the morning within three hundred yards of several witnesses. 


a The Psychological Crowd! p= ‘3 


In its ordinary sense the word “crowd” means a gathering of 
individuals of whatever nationality, profession, or sex, and whatever 
be the chances that have brought them together. From the psy- 
chological point of view the expression “crowd” assumes quite a 
different signification. (Under certain given circumstances, and only 
under those circumstances, an agglomeration of men presents new 
ey very different from those of the individuals composing 

/ The sentiments and ideas of aJl the persons in the gathering take —- 
one and the same direction, and their conscious personality vanishes— ~ 
A collective mind is formed, doubtless transitory, but presenting very Z 
cléarly defined characteristics. ‘The gathering has thus become hatte 
in the absence of a better expression, I will call an organized crowd, 
or, if the term is considered preferable, a psychological crowd. It 
forms a single being, and is subjected to the law of the mental unity of 
crowds. 

It is evident that it is not by the mere fact of a number of indi- 
viduals finding themselves accidentally side by side that they acquire 
the character of an organized crowd. A thousand individuals acci- 
dentally gathered in a public place without any determined object 
in no way constitute a crowd, from the psychological point of view. 

To acquire the special characteristics of such a crowd, the influence 
is necessary of certain predisposing causes, of which we shall have to 
determine the nature. 

The disappearance of conscious personality and the turning of 
feelings and thoughts in a definite direction, which are the primary 
characteristics of a crowd about to become organized, do not always 
involve the simultaneous presence of a number of individuals on one 
spot. Thousands of isolated individuals may acquire at certain 
moments, and under the influence of certain violent emotions— 
such, for example, as a great national event—-the characteristics of a 
psychological crowd. It will be sufficient in that case that a mere 


* adapted from Gustave Le Bon, The Crowd, pp. 1-14. (T. Fisher Unwin, 
1897.) 


888 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


chance should bring them together for their acts at once to assume the 
characteristics peculiar to the acts of a crowd. At certain moments 
half a dozen men might constitute a psychological crowd, which may 
not happen in the case of hundreds of men gathered together by 


accident. On the other hand, an entire nation, though there may be 


no visible agglomeration, may become a crowd under the action n Of 


certain influences. 

“It is not easy to describe the mind of crowds with exactness, 
because its organization varies not only according to race and com- 
position but also according to the nature and intensity of the exciting 
causes to which crowds are subjected. The same difficulty, however, 
presents itself in the psychological study of an individual. It is only 


in novels that individuals, are found to traverse their whole life with. 


an unvarying character. (It is only the uniformity of the environment 
that creates the apparent uniformity of characters.! I have shown 
elsewhere that all mental constitutions contain possibilities of charac- 
ter which may be manifested in consequence of a sudden change of 
environment. ‘This explains how it was that among the most savage 
members of the French Convention were to be found inoffensive 
citizens who, under ordinary circumstances, would have been peace- 
able notaries or virtuous magistrates. The storm past, they resumed 
their normal character of quiet, law-abiding citizens. eg BD OLCOH 
found amongst them his most docile servants. 

It being impussible to study here all the successive degrees of 
organization of crowds, we shall concern ourselves more especially 
with such crowds as have attained to the phase of complete organi- 
zation. In this way we shall see what crowds may become, but not 
what they invariably are. It is only in this~advanced phase of 
organization that certain new and special characteristics are super- 
posed on the unvarying and dominant character of the race; then 
takes place that turning, already alluded to, of all the feelings and 
thoughts of the collectivity in an identical direction. It is only 
under such circumstances, too, that what I have called above the 
psychological law of the mental unity of crowds comes into play. 


The most striking peculiarity presented by a psychological 


crowd is the following: Whoever be the individuals that compose it, 

however like or unlike be their mode of life, their occupations, their 

character, or their intelligence, the fact -thatthey have been trans- 
ee 


Sa 
Can: 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 889 


formed into a crowd puts them in possession of a sort of collective 
mind which makes them feel, think, and act in a mammer quite different 
from that in which each individual of them wouldfer|, think, and act, 
were he in a state of isolation. There are certatn ‘leas and feelings 
which do not come into being or do not transf!yrm themselves into 
acts except in the case of individuals forming 3.c owd. The psy- 
chological crowd is a provisional being ft ee 
elements, which for a moment are combine“, exactly as the cells which 
constitute a living body form by their! reun’en a new being which 
displays characteristics very different’ from [hose possessed by each 
of the cells singly. “y hy 

Contrary to an opinion w v4ich one is altonished to find coming 
from the pen of so acute af jhilosopher as|Herbert Spencer, in the 
aggregate which consti.utes* . crowd there isin no sort a summing-up 
of or an average struck Jp-iween its elemjnts. What really takes 
place is a combination fe Silowed by the creation of new characteristics, 
just_as in chemistfy *Sertain elements, wha brought into contact— 
bases and acids, for © xample—combine to farm a new body possessing 
properties quite diff Cerent from those of the bodies that have served 
to form it. al | 

It is easy to p''rove how much the individual forming part of a 
crowd differs from® the isolated individual, but it is less easy to dis- 
cover the causes of: this differenge. To obtein, at any rate, a glimpse 
‘of them it is nec#ssary in the first place to call to mind the truth 
established by miodern psychology that unconscious phenomena 
play an altogethetr preponderating part not only in organic life but 
also in the operat ‘ions of the intelligence. The conscious life of the 
mind is of small i¢mportance in comparison with its unconscious life. 
The most subtle f&analyst, the most acute observer, is scarcely suc- 
cessful in discovering more than a,yery small number of the uncon- 
scious motives thate determine his conduct. 

The greater part of our daily actions are the result of hidden 
motives which escaje our observation. It is more especially with 
respect to those unconscious elements that all the individuals belong- 
ing to it resemble each other, while it is principally in respect to the 
conscious elem@fi" of their character—the fruit of education, and 
yet more of ce ‘tional hereditary conditions—that they differ from 
each other, ~ Min most ‘unlike in the matter of their intelligence 














890 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


. possess instincts, passions, and feelings that are very similar. In the 
case of everything that belongs to the realm of sentiment—religion, 
politics, morality,\the affections and antipathies, etc-—the most 
eminent men seldojn surpass the standard of the most ordinary 
individuals. Fram fihe intellectual point of view an abyss may exist 
between a great mathyematician and his bootmaker, but from the 
point of view of characth ‘rx the difference is most often slight or non- 


existent \ 

It is precisely thte general qualities of character, governed by 
forces of which we are unconscious, and possessed by the majority 
of the normal individuds of a ré ce in much the same degree, it is 
precisely these qualities that in cro¥wds become common property. 
In the collective mind tie intellectual aptitudes of the individuals, 
and in consequence theirindividuality, ake weakened. ‘The heteroge- 
neous is swamped by thehomogeneous, an& the unconscious qualities 
obtain the upper hand. | , 

This very fact that\ccowds possess:in com jon ordinary qualities 
explains why they can| never accomplish acts\, demanding a high 
degree of intelligence. (he decisions affecting ):matters of general 
interest come to by an agsembly of men of distin¢ tion, but specialists 
in different walks of life| are not sensibly superior to the decisions 
that would be adopted ly a gathering of imbecijtes. The truth is, 
they can only bring to bear in common on the werk in hand those 
mediocre qualities which/are the birthright of ev\jery average indi- 
vidual. In crowds it is stupidity and not mother-wyit that is accumu- 
lated. It is not all the world, as is so often repeatg¢ed, that has more 
wit than Voltaire, but assuredly Voltaire that hajs more wit than 
all the world, if by “ail the world” crowds are to b¢: understood. 

If the individuals of a crowd confined themsef!ves to putting in 
common the ordinary qualities of which each of tlfiem has his share, 
there would merely result the striking of an averafge, and not, as we 
have said is actually the case, the creation of nfew characteristics. 
How is it that these new CHaIAp ata are creajted? ‘This is what 
we are now to investigate. el 

Different causes determine the appearance of \\hese characteristics 
peculiar to crowds and not possessed by isolated individuals. The 
first is that the individual forming part of a crow#l acquires, solely 
from numerical considerations,a sentiment-ofinvine "le ower which 






a ae 


ae g 4s 
° 2 








COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 891 


allows him to yield to instincts which, had he been alone, he would 
perforce have kept under restraint. He will be the less disposed to 
check himself from the consideration that, a crowd being anonymous 
and in consequence irresponsible, the sentiment of responsibility 
which always controls individuals disappears entirely. 


The second cause, which is contagion, also intervenes to deter- ~ 


mine the manifestation in crowds of their special characteristics, 
and at the same time the trend they are to take. Contagion is a 
phenomenon of which it is easy to establish the presence, but which 
it is not easy.to explain. It must be classed among those phenomena 
of a hypnotic order. In a crowd every sentiment and act is conta- 
gious, and contagious to such a degree that an individual readily 
sacrifices his personal interest to the collective interest. ‘This is an 
aptitude very contrary to his nature, and of which a man is scarcely 
capable except when he makes part of a crowd. 

A third cause, and by far the most important, determines in the 
individuals of a crowd special characteristics which are quite contrary 
at times to those presented by the isolated individual. I allude to 
that suggestibility of which, moreover, the contagion mentioned 
above is neither more nor less than an effect. 

The most careful observations seem to-prove that an individual 
immerged for some length of time in a crowd in action soon finds 
himself—either in consequence of the magnetic influence given out 
by the crowd or from some other cause of which we are ignorant— 
in a special state, which much resembles the state of fascination in 
which the hypnotized individual finds himself in the hands of the 
hypnotizer. ae . 

Such also is approximately the state of the individual forming 
part of a psychological crowd. He is no longer conscious of his acts. 
In his case, as in the case of the hypnotized subject, at the same time 
that certain faculties are destroyed, others may be brought to a high 
degree of exaltation. Under the influence of a suggestion, he will 
undertake the accomplishment of certain acts with irresistible impetu- 
osity. This impetuosity is the more irresistible in the case of crowds 
than in that of the hypnotized subject, from the fact that, the sugges- 
tion being the same for all the individuals of the crowd, it gains 
in strength by reciprocity. The individualities in the crowd who 
might possess a personality sufficiently strong to resist the suggestion 





802 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


are too few in number to struggle against the current. At the utmost, 
they may be able to attempt a diversion by means of different sug- 
gestions. It is in this way, foramstance, that“a happy expression, an 
image opportunely evoked, have occasionally deterred crowds from 
the most bloodthirsty acts, | 

We see, then, that the disappearance of the conscious personality, 
the predominance of the unconscious personality, the turning by 
means of suggestion and contagion of feelings and ideas in an identical 
direction, the tendency 1 to immediately- transform the suggested ideas 
into_acts; these, we see, are the principal “characteristics of the 
individual forming part of a crowd. He is no longer himself, but 
has become an automaton who has ceased to be guided by his will. 

Moreover, by the mere fact that he forms part of an organized 
crowd, a man descends several rungs in the ladder of civilization. 
isolated, he:may be a cultivated individual; in a crowd, he is a 
barbarian—that is, a creature acting by instinct. He possesses the 
spontaneity, the violence, the ferdtity, and also the enthusiasm and 
heroism of primitive beings. 

An individual in a crowd is a grain of sand amid other grains of 
sand, which the wind stirs up at will. It is for these reasons that 
juries are seen to deliver verdicts of whick each individual juror would 
disapprove, that parliamentary assemblies adopt laws and measures 
of which each of their members would disapprove in his own person. 
Taken separately, the men of the Convention were enlightened 
citizens of peaceful habits. United in a crowd, they did not hesitate 
to give their adhesion to the most savage proposals, to guillotine 
individuals most clearly innocent, and, contrary to their interest, to 
renounce their inviolability and to decimate themselves. 

The conclusion to be drawn from what precedes is that the crowd 
is always intellectually inferior to the_isolated individual, but that, 
from the point of view of fecngsand of the acts these feelings provoke, 
the crowd may, according to circumstances, be better or worse than the 
individual. All depends on the nature of the suggestion to which 
the crowd is exposed. This is the point that has been completely 
misunderstood by writers who have: only studied crowds from the 
criminal point of view. Doubtless a crowd is often criminal, but also 
it is often heroic. It is crowds rather than isolated individuals that 
may be induced to run the risk of death ta secure the triumph of a 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 893 


creed or an idea, that may be fired with enthusiasm for glory and 
honor, that are led on—almost without bread and without arms, 
as in the age of the Crusades—to deliver the tomb of Christ from the 
infidel, or, as in ’93, to defend the fatherland. Such heroism is without 
doubt somewhat unconscious, but it is of such heroism that history 
is made. Were peoples only to be credited with the great actions 
performed in cold blood, the annals of the world would register but 


few of them. 
3. The Crowd Defined' 


A crowd in the ordinary sense of that term is any chance collection 
of individuals. Sucha collectivity becomes a crowd in the sociological 
sense only when a condition of rapport has been established among the 
individuals who compose it. 

Rapport implies the existence of a mutual responsiveness, such 
that every member of the group reacts immediately, spontaneously, 
and sympathetically to the sentiments and attitudes of SvELy, other 
member. 5 

~The fact that A responds sympathetically toward B and C implies 
the existence in A of an attitude of receptivity and suggestibility 
toward the sentiments and attitudes of B and C. Where A, B, and 
C are mutually sympathetic, the inhibitions which, under ordinary 
circumstances, serve to preserve the isolation and self-consciousness 
of individuals are relaxed or completely broken down. Under these 
circumstances each individual, in so far as he may be said to reflect, 
in his own consciousness and in his emotional reactions, the sentiments 
and emotions of all the others, tends at the same time to modify the 
sentiments and attitudes of those others. \The effect is to produce 
a heightened, intensified, and relatively impersonal state of con- 
sciousness in which all seem to share, but which is, at the same time, 
relatively independent of each. 

The development of this so-called ‘‘group-consciousness”’ repre- 
sents a certain amount of loss of self-control on the part of the indi- 
vidual. Such control as the individual loses over himself is thus 
automatically transferred to the group as a whole or to the leader. 

What is meant by rapport in the group may be illustrated by a 
_ somewhat similar phenomenon which occurs in hypnosis. In this 
case a relation is established between the experimenter and his subject 


t From ~~ The Crewd and the Public. (Unpublished manuscript.) 


f 
/ 


/ 


894. INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


such that the subject responds automatically to every suggestion of 
the experimenter but is apparently oblivious of suggestions coming 
from other persons whose existence he does not perceive or ignores. 
This is the condition called “isolated rapport.’ . 

In the case of the crowd this mutual and exclusive responsiveness 
of each member of the crowd to the suggestions emanating from the 
other members produces here also a kind of mental isolation which is 
accompanied by an inhibition of the stimuli and suggestions that 
control the behavior of individuals under the conditions of ordinary 
life. Under these conditions impulses long repressed in the individual 
may find an expression in the crowd. It is this, no doubt, which 
accounts for those so-called criminal and atavistic tendencies of 
crowds, of which Le Bon and Sighele speak.? 

The organization of the crowd is only finally effected when the 
attention of the individuals who compose it becomes focused upon 
some particular object or some particular objective. This object 
thus fixed in the focus of the attention of the group ténds to assume 
the character of a collective representation.s It becomes this because 
it is the focus of the collectively enhanced emotion and sentiment of 
the group. It becomes the representation and the symbol of what 
the crowd feels and wills at the moment when all members are suffused 
with a common collective excitement and dominated by a common 
and collective idea. ‘This excitement and this idea with the meanings 
that attach to it are called collective because they are a product of 
the interactions of the members of the crowd. They are not individual 
but corporate products. | 

Le Bon describes the organization thus effected in a chance-met 
collection of individuals as a ‘collective mind,” and refers to the 
group, transitory and ephemeral though it be, as a “single being.” 

The positive factors in determining the organization of the crowd 
are then: wis | 

(1) A condition of rapport among the members of the group with 
a certain amount of contagious excitement and heightened suggesti- 
bility incident to it. . 

Moll, Hypnotism, pp. 134-36. 

2 Sighele, Psychologie des Auflaufs und dev Massenverbrechem (translated from 
the Italian), p. 79. A ag | | 

3 Durkheim, The Elementary Forn ] fe, } 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 895 


(2) A certain degree of mental isolation of the group following as 
a consequence of the rapport and sympathetic responsiveness of 
m-mbers of the group. 

(3) Focus of attention; and finally the consequent 

(4) Collective representation. Ae 


aS TYPES OF MASS MOVEMENTS 
1. Crowd Excitements and Mass Movements: The Klondike Rush! 


It was near the middle of July when the steamer Excelsior 
arrived in San Francisco from St. Michael’s, on the west coast of 
Alaska, with forty miners, having among them seven hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars’ worth of gold, brought down from the Klondike. 
When the bags and cans and jars containing it had been emptied 
and the gold piled on the counters of the establishment to which it 
was brought, no such sight had been seen in San Francisco since the 
famous year of 1849. 

On July 18 the Portland arrived in Seattle, on Puget Sound, 
having on board sixty-eight miners, who brought ashore bullion 
worth a million dollars. The next day it was stated that these miners 
had in addition enough gold concealed about their persons and in 
their baggage to double the first estimate. Whether all these state- 
ments were correct or not does not signify, for those were the reports 
that were spread throughout the states. From this last source alone, 
the mint at San Francisco received half a million dollars’ worth of 
gold in one week, and it was certain that men who had gone away 
poor had come back with fortunes. It was stated that a poor black- 
smith who had gone up from Seattle returned with $115,000, and that 
a man from Fresno, who had failed as a farmer, had secured $135,000. 

The gold fever set in with fury and attacked all classes. Men in 
good positions, with plenty of money to spend on an outfit, and men 
with little beyond the amount of their fare, country men and city 
men, clerks and professional men without the faintest notion of the 
meaning of “‘roughing it,” flocked in impossible numbers to secure 
a passage. There were no means of taking them. Even in distant 
New York, the offices of railroad companies and local agencies were 


t Adapted from T.. C. Down, “The Rush to the Klondike,” in the Cornhill 
Magazine, IV (1898), 33-43- 





896 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


besieged by anxious inquirers eager to join the throng. On Puget 
Sound, mills, factories, and smelting works were deserted by their 
employees, and all the miners on the upper Skeena left their work 
ina body. On July 21 the North American Transportation Company 
(one of two companies which monopolized the trade of the Yukon) 
was reincorporated in Chicago with a quadrupled capital, to cope 
with the demands of traffic. At the different Pacific ports every 
available vessel was pressed into the service, and still the wild rush 
could not be met. Before the end of July the Portland left Seattle 
again for St. Michael’s, and the Mexico and Topeka for Dyea; the 
Islander and Tees sailed for Dyea from Victoria, and the G. W. Elder 
from Portland; while from San Francisco the Excelsior, of the Alaska 
Company, which had brought the first gold down, left again for 
St. Michael’s on July 28, being the last of the company’s fleet 
scheduled to connect with the Yukon river boats for the season. 
Three times the original price was offered for the passage, and one 
passenger accepted an offer of $1,500 for the ticket for which he had 

paid only $150. : 

This, however, was only the beginning of the rush. Three more 
steamers were announced to sail in August for the mouth of the Yukon, 
and at least a dozen more for the Lynn Canal, among which were old 
tubs, which, after being tied up for years, were now overhauled and 
refitted for the voyage north. One of these was the Wulliameite, 
an old collier with only sleeping quarters for the officers and crew, 
which, however, was fitted up with bunks and left Seattle for Dyea and 
Skagway with 850 passengers, 1,200 tons of freight, and 300 horses, 
men, live stock, and freight being wedged between decks till the 
atmosphere was like that of a dungeon; and even with such a prospect 
in view, it was only by a lavish amount of tipping that a man could 
get his effects taken aboard. Besides all these, there were numerous 
scows loaded with provisions and fuel, and barges conveying horses 
for packing purposes. 

A frightful state of congestion followed as each successive steamer 
on its arrival at the head of the Lynn Canal poured forth its crowds 
of passengers and added to the enormous loads of freight already 
accumulated. Matters became so serious that on August to the 
United States Secretary of the Interior, having received information 
that 3,000 persons with 2,000 tons of baggage and freight were then 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 897 


waiting to cross the mountains to Yukon, and that many more were 
preparing to join them, issued a warning to the public (following 
that of the Dominion Government of the previous week) in which 
he called attention to the exposure, privation, suffering, anda danger 
incident to the journey at that advanced period of the season, and 
further referred to the gravity of the possible consequences to people 
detained in the mountainous wilderness during five or six months of 
Arctic winter, where no relief couid reach them. 

To come now to the state of things at the head of the Lynn 
Canal, where the steamers discharged their loads of passengers, 
horses, and freight. This was done either at Dyea or Skagway, the 
former being the landing-place for the Chilcoot Pass, and the latter 
for the White Pass, the distance between the two places being about 
four miles by sea. There were no towns at these places, nor any 
convenience for landing except a small wharf at Skagway, which was 
not completed, the workmen having been smitten with the gold fever. 
Every man had to bring with him, if he wanted to get through and 
live, supplies for a year: sacks of flour, slabs of bacon, beans, and so 
forth, his cooking utensils, his mining outfit and building tools, his 
tent, and all the heavy clothing and blankets suitable for the northern 
winter, one thousand pounds’ weight at least. Imagine the frightfui 
mass of stuff disgorged as each successive vessel arrived, with no 
adequate means of taking it inland! 

Before the end of September people were preparing to winter on 
the coast, and Skagway was growing into a substantial town. Where 
in the beginning of August there were only a couple of shacks, there 
were in the middle of October 700 wooden buildings and a population 
of about 1,500. Businesses of all kinds were carried on, saloons and 
low gaming houses and haunts of all sorts abounded, but of law and 
order there was none. Dyea also, which at one time was almost 
deserted, was growing into a place of importance, but the title of 
every lot in both towns was in dispute. Rain was still pouring down, 
and without high rubber boots walking was impossible. None 


indeed but the most hardy could stand existence in such places, ~ 


and every steamer from the south carried fresh loads of people back 
to their homes. 

Of the 6,000 people who went in this fall, 200 at the most got 
over to the Dawson Route by the White Pass, and perhaps 700 by 


898 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the Chilcoot. There were probably 1,000 camped at Lake Bennett, 
and all the rest, except the 1,500 remaining on the coast, had returned 
home to wait till midwinter or the spring before venturing up again. 
The question of which was the best trail was still undecided, and 
men vehemently debated it every day with the assistance of the 
most powerful language at their command. 

As to the crowds who had gone to St. Michael’s, it is doubtful 
whether any of them got through to Dawson City, since the lower 
Yukon is impassable by the end of September, and, at any rate, in 
view of the prospects of short rations, it would have been rash to try. 
The consequence would be that they would have to remain on that 
desolate island during nine months of almost Arctic winter, for the 
river does not open again till the end of June. Here they would be 
absolutely without employment unless they chose to stack wood for 
the steamboat companies, and their only amusements (save the mark) 
would be drinking bad rye-whiskey—for Alaska is a “prohibition” 
country—and poker-playing. For men with a soul above such 
delights, the heart-breaking monotony of a northern winter would be 
appalling, and it is only to be understood by those who have had to 
endure similar experiences themselves on the western prairies. 


2. Mass Movements and the Mores: The Woman's 
Temperance Crusade? 

On the evening of December 23, 1873, there might have been seen 
in the streets of Hillsboro, Ohio, persons singly or in groups wending 
their way to Music Hall, where a lecture on temperance was to be 
delivered by Dr. Dio Lewis, of Boston, Massachusetts. 

Hillsboro is a small place, containing something more than 3,000 
people. The inhabitants are rather better educated than is usually 
the case in small towns, and its society is indeed noted in that part of 
the country for its quietude, culture, and refinement. 

But Hillsboro was by-no means exempt from the prevailing scourge 
of intemperance. The early settlers of Hillsboro were mostly from 
_ Virginia, and brought with them the old-fashioned ideas of hospitality. 
For many years previous to the crusade the professional men, and 
especially of the bar, were nearly all habitual drinkers, and many of 


them very dissipated. When a few earnest temperance men, among 


t Adapted from Mrs. Annie Wittenmyer, History of the Woman’s Temperance 
Crusade (1878), pp. 24-62. 


‘COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 899 


whom was Governor Allen Trimble, initiated a total-abstinence move- 
ment in or about the year 1830, the pulpit took up arms against 
them, and a condemnatory sermon was preached in one of the 
churches. 

Thus it was that, although from time to time men, good and true, 
banded themselves together in efforts to break up this dreadful state 
of things and reform society, all endeavors seemed to fail of any 
permanent effect. 

The plan laid down by Dr. Lewis challenged attention by its 
novelty at least. He believed the work of temperance reform might 
be successfully carried on by women if they would set about it in the 
right manner—going to the saloon-keeper in a spirit of Christian love, 
and persuading him for the sake of humanity and his own eternal 
welfare to quit the hateful, soul-destroying business. The doctor 
spoke with enthusiasm; and seeing him so full of faith, the hearts 
of the women seized the hope—a forlorn one, ’tis true, but still a 
hope—and when Dr. Lewis asked if they were willing to undertake 
the task, scores of women rose to their feet, and there was no lack of 
good men who pledged themselves to encourage and sustain the women 
in their work. 

At a subsequent meeting an organization was effected and Mrs. 
Eliza J. Thompson, a daughter of ex-Governor Trimble of Ohio, was 
elected chairman. Mrs. Thompson gives the following account of 
the manner in which the crusade was organized: 


My boy came home from Dr. Dio Lewis’ lecture and said, “Ma, 
they’ve got you into business’; and went on to tell that Dio Lewis had 
incidentally related the successful effort of his mother, by prayer and 
persuasion, to close the saloon in a town where he lived when a boy, and 
that he had exhorted the women of Hillsboro to do the same, and fifty had 
risen up to signify their willingness, and that they looked to me to help 
them to carry out their promise. As I’m talking to you here familiarly, 
Ill go on to say that my husband, who had retired, and was in an adjoining 
room, raised up on his elbow and called out, ‘‘Oh! that’s all tomfoolery!” 
I remember I answered him something like this: ‘‘ Well, husband, the men 
have been in the tomfoolery business a long time; perhaps the Lord is going 
to call us into partnership with them.” Isaidno more. The next morning 
my brother-in-law, Colonel , came in and told me about the meeting, 
and said, ‘‘Now, you must be sure to go to the women’s meeting at the 
church this morning; they look to see you there.” Our folks talked it all 


f 


4 





a 


goo INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


over, and my husband said, ‘‘ Well, we all know where your mother’ll take 
this case for counsel,’”’ and then he pointed to the Bible and left the room. 

I went into the corner of my room, and knelt down and opened my 
Bible to see what God would say to me. Just at that moment there was 
a tap on the door and my daughter entered. She was in tears; she held 
her Bible in her hand, open to the 146th Psalm. She said, ‘Ma, I just 
opened to this, and I think it is for you,” and then she went away, and I 
sat down and read 


THIS WONDERFUL MESSAGE FROM GOD 


“Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there 
is no help. Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose 
hope is in the Lord his God; which keepeth truth forever; which executeth 
judgment for the oppressed; the Lord looseth the prisoners; the Lord 
openeth the eyes of the blind; the Lord raiseth them that are bowed down; 
the Lord loveth the righteous; the Lord relieveth the fatherless and the 
widow—but the way of the wicked he turneth upside down. ‘The Lord shall 
reign forever, even thy God, O Zion, unto all generations. Praise ye 
the Lord!” 

I knew that was for me, and I got up, put on my shoes, and started. 
I went to the church, in this town where I was born. I sat down quietly 
in the back part of the audience room, by the stove. A hundred ladies 
were assembled. I heard my name—heard the whisper pass through the 
company, ‘‘Here she is!” ‘‘She’s come!’’ and before I could get to the 
pulpit, they had put me “‘in office” —I was their leader. 

Many of our citizens were there, and our ministers also. They stayed 
a few minutes, and then rose and went out, saying, ‘“‘This is your work— 
we leave it with the women and the Lord.”’ When they had gone, I just 
opened the big pulpit Bible and read that 146th Psalm, and told them the 
circumstance of my selecting it. The women sobbed so I could hardly 
goon. When I had finished, I felt inspired to call on a dear Presbyterian 
lady to pray. She did so without the least hesitation, though it was the 
first audible prayer in her life. I can’t tell you anything about that prayer, 
only that the words were like fire. 

When she had prayed, I said—and it all came to me just at the moment 
—‘‘Now, ladies, let us file out, two by two, the smallest first, and let us sing 
as we go, ‘Give to the winds thy fears.’ ” 

We went first to John ’s saloon. Now, John was a German, 
and. his sister had lived in my family thirteen years, and she was very mild 
and gentle, and I hoped it might prove a family trait, but I found out it 
wasn’t. He fumed about dreadfully and said, “It’s awful; it’s a sin and 
a shame to pray inasaloon!” But we prayed right on just the same. 








COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR gor 


Next day the ladies held another meeting, but decided not to 
make any visitations, it being Christmas day, and the hotel-keepers 
more than usually busy and not likely to listen very attentively to 
our proposition. 

On the twenty-sixth, the hotels and saloons were visited; Mrs. 
Thompson presenting the appeal. And it was on this morning, and 
at the saloon of Robert Ward, that there came a break in the estab- 
lished routine. “Bob” was a social, jolly sort of fellow, and his 
saloon was a favorite resort, and there were many women in the 
company that morning whose hearts were aching in consequence of 
his wrong-doing. Ward was evidently touched. He confessed that 
it was a “bad business,” said if he could only ‘‘afford to quit it he 
would,” and then tears began to flow from his eyes. Many of the 
ladies were weeping, and at length, as if by inspiration, Mrs. Thomp- 
son kneeled on the floor of the saloon, all kneeling with her, even the 
saloonist, and prayed, pleading with indescribable pathos and 
earnestness for the conversion and salvation of this and all saloon- 
keepers. When the amen was sobbed rather than spoken, Mrs. 
Washington Doggett’s sweet voice began, ‘There is a fountain,” etc., 
in which all joined; the effect was most solemn, and when the hymn 
was finished the ladies went quietly away, and that was the first 
saloon prayer meeting. 

There was a saloon-keeper brought from Greenfield to H to 
be tried under the Adair law. The poor mother who brought the 
suit had besought him not to sell to her son—‘‘her only son.” He 
replied roughly that he would sell to him ‘‘as long as he had a dime.” 
Another mother, an old lady, made the same request, “‘lest,”’ she said, 
“he may some day fill a drunkard’s grave.”’ “Madam,” he replied, 
“your son has as good a right to fill a drunkard’s grave as any other 
mother’s son.”’ And in one of the Hillsboro saloons a lady saw her 
nephew. “O, Mr. B ,’ said she, “don’t sell whiskey to that 
boy: if he has one drink he will want another, and he may die a 
drunkard.” ‘Madam, I will sell to him if it sends his soul to hell,”’ 
was the awful reply. The last man is a peculiarly hard, stony sort 
of man; his lips look as if chiseled out of flint, a man to be afraid of. 
One morning, when the visiting band reached his door, they found 
him ina very bad humor. He locked his door and seated himself on 
the horse block in front in a perfect rage, clenched his fist, swore 








go2 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


furiously, and ordered us to go home. Some gentlemen, on the 
opposite side of the street, afterward said that they were watching 
the scene, ready to rush over and defend the ladies from an attack, 
and they were sure it would come; but one of the ladies, a sweet- 
souled woman, gentle and placid, eed just at his feet, and poured 
out such a tender, earnest prayer for him, that he quieted down 
entirely, and when she rose and offered him her hand in token of kind 
feeling, he could not refuse to take it. 

During the Crusade, a saloon-keeper (at Ocean Grove) consented to 
close his business. There was a great deal of enthusiasm and interest, 
and we women decided to compensate the man for his whiskey and make 
a bonfire of it in the street. A great crowd gathered about the saloon, and 
the barrels of whiskey were rolled out to the public square where we were 
to have our bonfire. Myself and two other little women, who had been 
chosen to knock in the heads, and had come to the place with axes concealed 
under our shawls, went to our work with a will. 

I didn’t know I was so strong, but I lifted that axe like a woodman 
and brought it down with such force that the first blow stove in the head of 
a barrel and splashed the whiskey in every direction. I was literally 
baptized with the noxious stuff. The intention was to set it on fire, and 
we had brought matches for that purpose, but it would not burn! It was a 
villainous compound of some sort, but we had set out to have a fire, and 
were determined by some means or other to make it burn, so we sent for 
some coal oil and poured it on and we soon had a blaze. The man who 
could sell such liquors would not be likely to keep the pledge. He is selling 
liquors again. 


The crusade began at Washington C.H. only two days later than 
at Hillsboro. And Washington C.H. was the first place where the 
crusade was made prominent and successful. 

On Friday morning, December 26, 1873, after an hour of prayer 
in the M.E. Church, forty-four women filed slowly and solemnly down 
the aisle, and started forth upon their strange mission with fear and 
trembling, while the male portion of the audience remained at the 
church to pray for the success of this new undertaking; the tolling 
of the church-bell keeping time to the solemn march of the women, 
as they wended their way to the first drug-store on the list. (The 
number of places within the city limits where intoxicating drinks 
were sold was fourteen—eleven saloons and three drug-stores.) Here, 
as in every place, they entered singing, every woman taking up the 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 903 


sacred strain as she crossed the threshold. This was followed by the 
reading of the appeal and prayer; then earnest pleading to desist 
from their soul-destroying traffic and sign the dealer’s pledge. 

Thus, all the day long, they went from place to place, without 
stopping even for dinner or lunch, till five o’clock, meeting with no 
marked success; but invariably courtesy was extended to them; not 
even their reiterated promise, “‘ We will call again,’”’ seeming to offend. 

No woman who has ever entered one of these dens of iniquity on 
such an errand needs to be told of the heartsickness that almost over- 
came them as they, for the first time, saw behind those painted win- 
dows or green blinds, or entered the little ‘stifling “back room,”’ or 
found their way down winding steps into the damp, dark cellars, and 
realized that into such places those they loved best were being landed, 
through the allurements of the brilliantly lighted drug-store, the 
fascinating billiard table, or the enticing beer gardens, with their siren 
attractions. A crowded house at night, to hear the report of the day’s 
work, betrayed the rapidly increasing interest in this mission. 

On the twenty-seventh the contest really began, and, at the first 
place, the doors were found locked. With hearts full of compassion, 
the women knelt in the snow upon the pavement, to plead for the 
divine influence upon the heart of the liquor-dealer, and there held 
their first street prayer meeting. 

At night the weary but zealous workers reported at a mass meeting 
of the various rebuffs, and the success in having two druggists sign 
the pledge not to sell, except upon the written prescription of a 
physician. | 

The Sabbath was devoted to union mass meeting, with direct 
reference to the work in hand; and on Monday the number of ladies 
had increased to near one hundred. That day, December 29, is one long 
to be remembered in Washington, as the day upon which occurred the 
first surrender ever made by a liquor-dealer, of his stock of liquors 
of every kind and variety, to the women, in answer to their prayers 
and entreaties, and by them poured into the street. Nearly a thou- 
sand men, women, and children witnessed the mingling of beer, ale, 
wine, and whiskey, as they filled the gutters and were drunk up by 
the earth, while the bells were ringing, men and boys shouting, and 
women singing and praying to God who had given the victory. But 
on the fourth day, “stock sale-day,” the campaign had reached its 


go4 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


height, the town being filled with visitors from all parts of the county 
and adjoining villages. Another public surrender, and another pour- 
ing into the street of a larger stock of liquors than on the previous 
day, and more intense excitement and enthusiasm. 

Mass meetings were held nightly, with new victories reported 
constantly, until on Friday, January 21, one week from the beginning — 
of the work, at the public meeting held in the evening, the secretary’s 
report announced the unconditional surrender of every liquor-dealer, 
some having shipped their liquors back to wholesale dealers, others 
having poured them into the gutters, and the druggists as all having 
signed the pledge. Thus a campaign of prayer and song had, in 
eight days, closed eleven saloons, and pledged three drug-stores to 
sell only on prescription. At first men had wondered, scoffed, and 
laughed, then criticized, respected, and yielded. 

Morning prayer and evening mass meetings continued daily, and 
the personal pledge was circulated till over one thousand signatures 
were obtained. Physicians were called upon to sign a pledge not to 
prescribe ardent spirits when any other substitute could be found, and 
in no case without a personal examination of the patient. 

Early in the third week the discouraging intelligence came that a 
new man had taken out a license to sell liquor in one of the deserted 
saloons, and that he was backed by a whiskey house in Cincinnati, to 
the amount of $5,000, to break down this movement. On Wednesday, 
the fourteenth, the whiskey was unloaded at his room. About forty 
women were on the ground and followed the liquor in, and remained 
holding an uninterrupted prayer meeting all day and until eleven 
o’clock at night. The next day, bitterly cold, was spent in the same 
place and manner, without fire or chairs, two hours of that time the 
women being locked in, while the proprietor was off attending a trial. 
On the following day, the coldest of the winter of 1874, the women 
were locked out, and stood on the street holding religious services 
all day long. 

Next morning a tabernacle was built in the street, just in front of 
the house, and was occupied for the double purpose of watching and 
prayer through the day; and before night the sheriff closed the saloon, 
and the proprietor surrendered; thus ended the third week. 

A short time after, on a dying-bed, this four days’ liquor-dealer 
sent for some of these women, telling them their songs and prayers 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 905 


had never ceased to ring in his ears, and urging them to pray again 
in his behalf; so he passed away. . 

Thus, through most of the winter of 1874 no alcoholic drinks were 
publicly sold as a beverage in the county. 

During the two intervening years weekly temperance-league 
meetings have been kept up by the faithful few, while frequent union 
mass meetings have been held, thus keeping the subject always before 
the people. Today the disgraceful and humiliating fact exists that 
there are more places where liquors are sold than before the crusade. 


3. Mass Movements and Revolution 


a. The French Revolution: 


The outward life of men in every age is molded upon an inward 
life consisting of a framework of traditions, sentiments, and moral 
influences which direct their conduct and maintain certain funda- 
mental notions which they accept without discussion. 

Let the resistance of this social framework weaken, and ideas 
which could have had no force before will germinate and develop. 
Certain theories whose success was enormous at the time of the 
Revolution would have encountered an impregnable wall two cen- 
turies earlier. 

The aim of these considerations is to recall to the reader the fact 
that the outward events of revolutions are always. a consequence of 
invisible transformations which have slowly gone forward in men’s 
minds. Any profound study of a revolution necessitates a study of 
the mental soil upon which the ideas that direct its courses have to 
germinate. 

Generally slow in the extreme, the evolution of ideas is often 
invisible for a whole generation. Its extent can only be grasped by 
comparing the mental condition of the same social classes at the two 
extremities of the curve which the mind has followed. 

The actual influence of the philosophers in the genesis of the 
Revolution was not that which was attributed to them. They 
revealed nothing new, but they developed the critical spirit which 
no dogma can resist, once the way is prepared for its downfall. 


* Adapted from Gustave Le Bon, The Psychology of Revolution, pp. 147-70. 
(G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1913.) 


go06 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Under the influence of this developing critical spirit things which 
were no longer very greatly respected came to be respected less and 
less. When tradition and prestige had disappeared, the social edifice 
suddenly fell. This progressive disaggregation finally descended to 
the people, but was not commenced by them. The people follow 
examples, but never set them. 

The philosophers, who could not have exerted anv influence over 
the people, did exert a great influence over the enlightened portion 
of the nation. ‘The unemployed nobility, who had long been ousted 
from their old functions and who were consequently inclined to be 
censorious, followed their leadership. Incapable of foresight, the 
nobles were the first to break with the traditions that were their 
only raison @étre. As steeped in humanitarianism and rationalism 
as the bourgeoisie of today, they continually sapped their own privi- 
leges by their criticisms. As today, the-‘most ardent reformers were 
found among the favorites of fortune. The aristocracy encouraged ° 
dissertations on the social contract, the rights of man, and the equality 
of citizens. At the theater it applauded plays which criticized 
privileges, the arbitrariness and the incapacity of men in high places, 
and abuses of all kinds. 

As soon as men lose confidence in the foundations of the mental 
framework which guides their conduct, they feel at first uneasy and 
then discontented. All classes felt their old motives of action 
gradually disappearing. ‘Things that had seemed sacred for centuries 
were now sacred no longer. 

The censorious spirit of the nobility and of the writers of the day 
would not have sufficed to move the heavy load of tradition but that 
its action was added to that of other powerful influences. We have 
already stated, in citing Bossuet, that under the ancien régime the 
religious and civil governments, widely separated in our day, were 
intimately connected. ‘To injure one was inevitably to injure the 
other. Now even before the monarchical idea was shaken, the force 
of religious tradition was greatly diminished among cultivated men. 
The constant progress of knowledge had sent an increasing number 
of minds from theology to science by opposing the truth observed to 
the truth revealed. 

This mental evolution, although as yet very vague, was sufficient 
to show that the traditions which for so many centuries had guided 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 907 


men had not the value which had been attributed to them, and that 
it would soon be necessary to replace them. 

But where discover the new elements which might take the place 
of tradition? Where seek the magic ring which would raise a new 
social edifice on the remains of that which no longer contented men ? 

Men were agreed in attributing to reason the power that tradi- 
tion and the gods seemed to have lost. How could its force be 
doubted? Its discoveries having been innumerable, was it not legiti- 
mate to suppose that by applying it to the construction of societies 
it would entirely transform them? Its possible function increased 
very rapidly in the thoughts of the more enlightened, in proportion 
as tradition seemed more and more to be distrusted. 

The sovereign power attributed to reason must be regarded as 
the culminating idea which not only engendered the Revolution but 
governed it throughout. During the whole Revolution men gave 
themselves up to the most persevering efforts to break with the past 
and to erect society upon a new plan dictated by logic. 

Slowly filtering downward, the rationalistic theories of the 
philosophers meant to the people simply that all the things which 
had been regarded as worthy of respect were now no longer worthy. 
Men being declared equal, the old masters need no longer be obeyed. 
The multitude easily succeeded in ceasing to respect what the upper 
classes themselves no longer respected. When the barrier of respect 
was down the Revolution was accomplished. 

The first result of this new mentality was a general insubordi- 
nation. Mme. Vigée Lebrun relates that on the promenade at 
Longchamps men of the people leaped on the footboards of the 
carriages, saying, ““Next year you will be behind and we shall be 
inside.” 

The populace was not alone in manifesting insubordination and 
discontent. ‘These sentiments were general on the eve of the Revolu- 
tion. “The lesser clergy,” says Taine, ‘‘are hostile to the prelates; 
the provincial gentry to the nobility of the court; the vassals to the 
seigneurs; the peasants to the townsmen, etc.”’ 

This state of mind, which had been communicated from the 
nobles and clergy to the people, also invaded the army. At the 
moment the States General were opened, Necker said: ‘‘ We are not 
sure of the troops.” ‘The officers were becoming humanitarian and 


908 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


philosophical. The soldiers, recruited from the lowest class of the 
population, did not philosophize, but they no longer obeyed. In 
their feeble minds the ideas of equality meant simply the suppression 
of all leaders and masters, and therefore of all obedience. In 1790 
more than twenty regiments threatened their officers, and some- 
times, as at Nancy, threw them into prison. 

The mental anarchy which, after spreading through all classes of 
society, finally invaded the army was the principal cause of the dis- 
appearance of the ancien régime. ‘It was the defection of the 
army affected: by the ideas of the Third Estate,” wrote Rivarol, 
“that destroyed royalty.” 

The genesis of the French Revolution, as well as its duration, 
was conditioned by elements of a rational, affective, mystic, and 
collective nature, each category of which was ruled by a different 
logic. The rational element usually invoked as an explanation 
exerted in reality but very slight influence. It prepared the way for 
the Revolution, but maintained it only at the outset, while it was 
still exclusively middle class. Its action was manifested by many 
measures of the time, such as the proposals to reform the taxes, the 
suppression of the privileges of a useless nobility, etc. 

As soon as the Revolution reached the people, the influence of 
the rational elements speedily vanished before that of the affective 
and collective elements. As for the mystic elements, the foundation 
of the revolutionary faith, they made the army fanatical and propa- 
gated the new belief throughout the world. 

We shall see these various elements as they appeared in events 
and in the psychology of individuals. Perhaps the most important 
was the mystic element. The Revolution cannot be clearly compre- 
hended—we cannot repeat it too often—unless it is considered as 
the formation of a religious belief. What I have said elsewhere of 
all beliefs applies equally to the Revolution. ‘They:impose themselves 
on men apart from reason and have the power to polarize men’s 
thoughts and feelings in one direction. Pure reason had never such 
a power, for men were never impassioned by reason. 

The religious forms rapidly assumed by the Revolution explain 
its power of expansion and the prestige which it possessed and has 
retained. Few historians have understood that this great monument 
ought to be regarded as the foundation of a new religion. The 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 909 


penetrating mind of Tocqueville, I believe, was the first to perceive 
as much. He wrote: 

The French Revolution was a political revolution which operated in the 
manner of and assumed something of the aspect of a religious revolution. 
See by what regular and characteristic traits it finally resembled the latter; 
not only did it spread itself far and wide like a religious revolution, but, 
like the latter, it spread itself by means of preaching and propaganda. A 
political revolution which inspires proselytes, which is preached as passion- 
ately to foreigners as it is accomplished at home: consider what a novel 
spectacle was this. 

Although the mystic element is always the foundation of beliefs, 
certain affective and rational elements are quickly added thereto. 
A belief thus serves to group sentiments and passions and interests 
which belong to the affective domain. Reason then envelops the 
whole, seeking to justify events in which, however, it played no 
part whatever. 

At the moment of the Revolution everyone, according to his 
"aspirations, dressed the new belief in a different rational vesture. 
The peoples saw in it only the suppression of the religious and political 
despotisms and hierarchies under which they had so often suffered. 
Writers like Goethe and thinkers like Kant imagined that they saw 
in it the triumph of reason. Foreigners like Humboldt came to 
France “to breathe the air of liberty and to assist at the obsequies 
of despotism.” ‘These intellectual illusions did not last long. ‘The 
evolution of the drama soon revealed the true foundations of the 
dream. 

b. Bolshevism 

Great: mass movements, whether these be religious or political, 
are at first always difficult to understand. Invariably they challenge 
existing moral and intellectual values, the revaluation of which is, 
for the normal mind, an exceedingly difficult and painful task. More- 
over the definition of their aims and policies into exact and compre- 
hensive programs is generally slowly achieved. At their inception 
and during the early stages of their development there must needs 
be many crude and tentative statements and many rhetorical exag- 
gerations. It is safe to assert as a rule that at no stage of its history 


t Adapted from John Spargo, The Psychology of Bolshevism, pp. 1-120. (Harper 
& Brothers, 1919.) 


gIO INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


can a great movement of the masses be fully understood and fairly 
interpreted by a study of its formal statements and authentic exposi- 
tions only. These must be supplemented by a careful study of the 
psychology of the men and women whose ideals and yearnings these 
statements and expositions aim to represent. It is not enough to 
know and comprehend the creed: it is essential that we also know 
and comprehend the spiritual factors, the discontent, the hopes, the 
fears, the inarticulate visionings of the human units in the movement. 
This is of greater importance in the initial stages than later, when the 
articulation of the soul of the movement has become more certain 
and clear. 

No one who has attended many bolshevist meetings or is ac- 
quainted with many of the individuals to whom bolshevism makes a 
strong appeal will seriously question the statement that an impressively 
large number of those who profess to be Bolshevists present a striking 
likeness to extreme religious zealots, not only in the manner of mani- 
festing their enthusiasm, but also in their methods of exposition and 
argument. Just as in religious hysteria a single text becomes a 
whole creed to the exclusion of every other text, and instead of being 
itself subject to rational tests is made the sole test of the rationality 
of everything else, so in the case of the average Bolshevist of this type 
a single phrase received into the mind in a spasm of emotion, never 
tested by the usual criteria of reason, becomes not only the very 
essence of truth but also the standard by which the truth or untruth 
of everything else must be determined. Most of the preachers who 
become pro-Bolshevists are of this type. 

People who possess minds thus affected are generally capable of, 
and frequently indulge in, the strictest logical deduction and analysis. 
Sometimes they acquire the reputation of being exceptionally brilliant 
thinkers because of this power. But the fact is that their initial 
ideas, upon which everything is pivoted, are derived emotionally and 
are not the results of a deliberate weighing of available evidence. 
The initial movement is one of feeling, of emotional impulse. The 
conviction thereby created is so strong and*so dominant that it 
cannot be affected by any purely rational functional factors. 

People of this type jump at decisions and reach very positive 
convictions upon the most difficult matters with bewildering ease. 
For them the complexities and intricacies which trouble the normal 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR QII 


mind do not exist. Everything is either black or white: there are 
no perplexing intervening grays. Right is right and wrong is wrong; 
they do not recognize that there are doubtful twilight zones. Ideas 
capable of the most elaborate expansion and the most subtle intri- 
cacies of interpretation are immaturely grasped and preached with 
naive assurance. Statements alleged to be facts, no matter what 
their source, if they seem to support the convictions thus emotionally 
derived, are received without any examination and used as con- 
clusive proof, notwithstanding that a brief investigation would prove 
them to be worthless as evidence. 

If we take the group of American intellectuals who at present 
are ardent champions of bolshevism we shall find that, with exceptions 
so few as to be almost negligible, they have embraced nearly every 
“‘ism”’ as it arose, seeing in each one the magic solvent of humanity’s 
ills. Those of an older generation thus regarded bimetallism, for 
instance. What else could be required to make the desert bloom 
like a garden and to usher in the earthly Paradise? The younger 
ones, in their turn, took up anarchist-communism, Marxian socialism, 
industrial unionism, syndicalism, birth control, feminism, and many 
other movements and propagandas, each of which in its turn induced 
ecstatic visions of a new heaven and a new earth. The same indi- 
viduals have grown lyrical in praise of every bizarre and eccentric 
art fad. In the banal and grotesque travesties of art produced by 
cubists, futurists, e¢ al., they saw transcendent genius. They are 
forever seeking new Wie and burying old ones. 

It would be going too far to say that these individuals are all 
hystericals in the pathological sense, but it is strictly accurate to say 
that the class exhibits marked hysterical characteristics and that it 
closely resembles the large class of over-emotionalized religious 
enthusiasts which furnish so many true hystericals. It is probable 
that accidents of environment account for the fact that their emo- 
tionalism takes sociological rather than religious forms. If the 
sociological impetus were absent, most of them. would be religiously 
motived to a state not less abnormal. 

To understand the spread of bolshevist agitation and sympathy 
among a very considerable part of the working class in this country, 
we must take into account the fact that its logical and natural nucleus 
is the IL.W.W. It is necessary also to emancipate our minds from the 


G12 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


obsession that only ‘‘ignorant foreigners” are affected. This is not 
a true estimate of either the I.W.W. or the bolshevist propaganda as 
a whole. There are indeed many of this class in both, but there are 
also many native Americans, sturdy, self-reliant, enterprising, and 
courageous men. The peculiar group psychology which we are 
compelled to study is less the result of those subtle and complex 
factors which are comprehended in the vague term ‘“‘race”’ than of 
the political and economic conditions by which the group concerned 
is environed. 

The typical native-born I.W.W. member, the “Wobbly” one 
frequently encounters in our mid-western and western cities, is very 
unlike the hideous and repulsive figure conjured up by sensational 
cartoonists. He is much more likely to be a very attractive sort of 
man. Here are some characteristics of the type: figure robust, 
sturdy, and virile; dress rough but not unclean; speech forthright, 
deliberate, and bold; features intelligent, frank, and free from signs 
of alcoholic dissipation; movements slow and leisurely as of one 
averse to over-exertion. ‘There are thousands of ‘‘wobblies”’ to 
whom the specifications of this description will apply. Conversation 
with these men reveals that, as a general rule, they are above rather 
than below the average in sobriety. They are generally free from 
family ties, being either unmarried or, as often happens, wife-deserters. 
They are not highly educated, few having attended any school beyond 
the grammar-school grade. Many of them have, however, read a 
great deal more than the average man, though their reading has been 
curiously miscellaneous in selection and nearly always badly balanced. 
Theology, philosophy, sociology, and economics seem to attract most 
attention. In discussion—and every “Wobbly” seems to possess 
a passion for disputation—men of this type will manifest a surprising 
familiarity with the broad outlines of certain theological problems, 
as well as with the scriptural texts bearing upon them. It is very 
likely to be the case, however, that they have only read a few popular 
classics of what used to be called rationalism—Paine’s Age of Reason, 
Ingersoll’s lectures in pamphlet form, and Haeckel’s Riddle of the 
Universe are typical. A surprisingly large number can quote exten- 
sively from Buckle’s History of Civilization and from the writings of 
Marx. They quote statistics freely—statistics of wages, poverty, 
crime, vice, and so on—generally derived from the radical press and 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR O13 


implicitly believed because so published, with what they accept as 
adequate authority. 

Their most marked peculiarity is the migratory nature of their 
lives. Whether this is self-determined, a matter of temperament 
and habit, or due to uncontrollable factors, it is largely responsible 
for the contempt in which they are popularly held. It naturally 
brings upon them the reproach and resentment everywhere visited 

upon “tramps” and ‘‘vagabonds.” ‘They rarely remain long enough 
in any one place to form local attachments and ties or anything like 
civic pride. They move from job to job, city to city, state to state, 
- sometimes tramping afoot, begging as they go; sometimes stealing 
rides on railway trains, in freight cars—‘‘side-door Pullmans”’—or 
on the rods underneath the cars. Frequently arrested for begging, 
trespassing, or stealing rides, they are often victims of injustice at 
the hands of local judges and justices. ‘The absence of friends, com- 
bined with the prejudice against vagrants which everywhere exists, 
subjects them to arbitrary and high-handed injustice such as no 
other body of American citizens has to endure. Moreover, through 
the-conditions of their existence they are readily suspected of crimes 
they do not commit; it is all too easy for the hard-pushed police 
officer or sheriff to impute a crime to the lone and defenseless ‘‘ Wob- 
bly,” who frequently can produce no testimony to prove his in- 
nocence, simply because he has no friends in the neighborhood and 
has been at pains to conceal his movements. In this manner the 
“Wobbly” becomes a veritable son of Ishmael, his hand against the 
hand of nearly every man in conventional society. In particular he 
becomes a rebel by habit, hating the police and the courts as his 
constant enemies, 

Doubtless the great majority of these men are temperamentally 
predisposed to the unanchored, adventurous, migratory existence 
which they lead. Boys so constituted run away to sea, take jobs 
with traveling circuses, or enlist as soldiers. The type is familiar 
and not uncommon. Such individuals cannot be content with the 
prosaic, humdrum, monotonous life of regular employment. As a 
‘rule we do not look upon this trait in boy or man as criminal. 

Many a hardworking, intelligent American, who from choice or 
from necessity is a migratory worker, following his job, never has an 
opportunity to vote for state legislators, for governor, for congressman 


QI4 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


or president. He is just as effectively excluded from the actuai 
electorate as if he were a Chinese coolie, ignorant of our customs and 
our speech. 

We cannot wonder that such conditions prove prolific breeders of 
bolshevism and similar ‘‘isms.” Jt would be strange indeed if it 
were otherwise. We have no right to expect that men who are so 
constantly the victims of arbitrary, unjust, and even brutal treatment 
at the hands of our police and our courts will manifest any reverence 
for the law and the judicial system. Respect for majority rule in 
government cannot fairly be demanded from a disfranchised group. 
It is not to be wondered at that the old slogan of socialism, “Strike 
at the ballot-box!’’—the call to lift the struggle of the classes to 
the parliamentary level for peaceful settlement—becomes the des- 
perate, anarchistic I.W.W. slogan, “Strike at the ballot-box with 
an ax!”? Men who can have no family life cannot justly be expected 
to bother about school administration. Men who can have no home 
life but only dreary shelter in crowded work-camps or dirty doss- 
houses are not going to bother themselves with municipal housing 
reforms. . , 

In short, we must wake up to the fact that, as the very heart 
of our problem, we have a bolshevist nucleus in America composed 
of virile, red-blooded Americans, racy of our soil and history, whose 
conditions of life and labor are such as to develop in them the psy- 
chology of reckless, despairing, revengeful bolshevism. ‘They really 
are little concerned with theories of the state and of social develop- 
ment, which to our intellectuals seem to be the essence of bolshevism. 
They are vitally concerned only with action. Syndicalism and 
bolshevism involve speedy and drastic action—hence the force of their 
appeal. 

Finally, if we would understand why millions of people in all 
lands have turned away from old ideals, old loyalties, and old faiths 
to bolshevism, with something of the passion and frenzy character- 
istic of great messianic movements, we must take into account the 
intense spiritual agony and hunger which the Great War has brought 
into the lives of civilized men. The old gods are dead and men are 
everywhere expectantly waiting for the new gods to arise. The 
aftermath of the war is a spiritual cataclysm such as civilized mankind 
has never before known. ‘The old religions and moralities are shat- 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR gis 


tered and men are waiting and striving for new ones. It is a time 
suggestive of the birth of new religions. Man cannot live as yet 
without faith, without some sort of religion. The heart of the world 
today is strained with yearning for new and living faiths to replace 
the old faiths which are dead. Were some persuasive fanatic to arise 
proclaiming himself to be a new Messiah, and preaching the religion 
of action, the creation of a new society, he would find an eager, soul- 
hungry world already predisposed to believe. 


4. Mass Movements and Institutions: Methodism’ 


The corruption of manners which has been general since the 
Restoration was combated by societies for “the reformation of man- 
ners,” which in the last years of the seventeenth century acquired 
extraordinary dimensions. They began in certain private societies 
which arose in the reign of James II, chiefly under the auspices of 
Beveridge and Bishop Horneck. ‘These societies were at first purely 
devotional, and they appear to have been almost identical in char- 
acter with those of the early Methodists. They held prayer meetings, 
weekly communions, and Bible-readings; they sustained charities 
and distributed religious books, and they cultivated a warmer and 
more ascetic type of devotion than was common in the Church. 
Societies of this description sprang up in almost every considerable 
city in England and even in several of those in Ireland. In the last 
years of the seventeenth century we find no less than ten of them 
in Dublin. Without, however, altogether discarding their first 
character, they assumed, about 1695, new and very important func- 
tions. They divided themselves into several distinct groups, under- 
taking the discovery and suppression of houses of ill fame, and the 
prosecution of swearers, drunkards, and Sabbath-breakers. They 
became a kind of voluntary police, acting largely as spies, and enfor- 
cing the laws against religious offenses. The energy with which this 
scheme was carried out is very remarkable. As many as seventy or 
eighty persons were often prosecuted in London and Westminster for 
cursing and swearing, in a single week. Sunday markets, which had 
hitherto been not uncommon, were effectually suppressed. Hundreds 
of disorderly houses were closed. Forty or fifty night-walkers were 


t Adapted from William E. H. Lecky, A History of England in the Eighteenth 
Century, III, 33-101. (D. Appleton & Co., 1892.) 


916 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


sent every week to Bridewell, and numbers were induced to emigrate 
to the colonies. A great part of the fines levied for these offenses was 
bestowed on the poor. In the fortieth annual report of the ‘‘ Societies 
for the Reformation of Manners” which appeared in 1735, it was 
stated that the number of prosecutions for debauchery and profane- 
ness in London and Westminster alone, since the foundation of the 
societies, had been 99,380. 

The term Methodist was a college nickname bestowed upon a 
small society of students at Oxford, who met together between 1729 
and 1735 for the purpose of mutual improvement. They were accus- 
tomed to communicate every week, to fast regularly on Wednesdays 
and Fridays, and on most days during Lent; to read and discuss the 
Bible in common, to abstain from most forms of amusement and 
luxury, and to visit sick persons and prisoners in the gaol. John 
Wesley, the future leader of the religious revival of the eighteenth 
century, was the master-spirit of this society. The society hardly 
numbered more than fifteen members, and was the object of much 
ridicule at the university; but it included some men who afterward 
played corisiderable parts in the world. Among them was Charles, 
the younger brother of John Wesley, whose hymns became the favorite 
poetry of the sect, and whose gentler, more submissive, and more 
amiable character, though less fitted than that of his brother for the 
great conflicts of public life, was very useful in moderating the move- 
ment, and in drawing converts to it by personal influence. Charles 
Wesley appears to have originated the society at Oxford; he brought 
Whitefield into its pale, and besides being the most popular poet he 
was one of the most persuasive preachers of the movement. 

In the course of 1738 the chief elements of the movement were 
already formed. Whitefield had returned from Georgia, Charles 
Wesley had begun to preach the doctrine with extraordinary effect to 
the criminals in Newgate and from every pulpit into which he was 
admitted. Methodist societies had already sprung up under Mora- 
vian influence. They were in part a continuation of the society at 
Oxford, in part a revival of those religious societies that have been 
already noticed as so common after the Revolution. The design of 
each was to be a church within a church, a seedplot of a more fervent 
piety, the center of a stricter discipline and a more energetic propa- 
gandism than existed in religious communities at large. In these 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 917 


societies the old Christian custom of love-feasts was revived. The 
members sometimes passed almost the whole night in the most 
passionate devotions, and voluntarily submitted to a spiritual tyranny 
that could hardly be surpassed in a Catholic monastery. They were 
to meet every week, to make an open and particular confession of 
every frailty, to submit to be cross-examined on all their thoughts, 
words, and deeds. The following among others were the questions 
asked at every meeting: ‘What known sin have you committed since 
our last meeting? What temptations have you met with? How 
were you delivered? What have you thought, said, or done of which 
you doubt whether it be sin or not? Have you nothing you desire 
to keep secret ?” 

Such rules could only have been accepted under the influence of an 
overpowering religious enthusiasm, and there was much truth in the 
judgment which the elder brother of John Wesley passed upon them 
in 1739. ‘Their societies,” he wrote to their mother, “are sufficient 
to dissolve all other societies but theirown. Will any man of common 
sense or spirit suffer any domestic to be in a band engaged to relate to 
five or ten people everything without reserve that concerns the 
person’s conscience how much soever it may concern the family? 
Ought any married persons to be there unless husband and wife be 
there together ?” 

From this time the leaders of the movement became the most 
active of missionaries. Without any fixed parishes they wandered 
from place to place, proclaiming their new doctrine in every pulpit to 
which they were admitted, and they speedily awoke a passionate 
enthusiasm and a bitter hostility in the Church. 

We may blame, but we can hardly, I think, wonder at the hostility 
all this aroused among the clergy. It is, indeed, certain that Wesley 
and Whitefield were at this time doing more than any other contem- 
porary clergymen to kindle a living piety among the people. Yet 
before the end of 1738 the Methodist leaders were excluded from most 
of the pulpits of the Church, and were thus compelled, unless they 
consented to relinquish what they considered a Divine mission, to 

ae steps in the direction of separation. 

Two important measures of this nature were taken in 1739. One 
of them was the creation of Methodist chapels, which were intendéd 
not to oppose or replace, but to be supplemental and ancillary to, the 


918 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


churches, and to secure that the doctrine of the new birth should be 
faithfully taught to the people. ‘The other and still more important 
event was the institution by Whitefield of field-preaching. The idea 
had occurred to him in London, where he found congregations too 
numerous for the church in which he preached, but the first actual 
step was taken in the neighborhood of Bristol. At a time when he 
was himself excluded from the pulpits at Bristol, and was thus deprived 
of the chief normal means of exercising his talents, his attention was 
called to the condition of the colliers at Kingswood. He was filled 
with horror and compassion at finding in the heart of a Christian 
country, and in the immediate neighborhood of a great city, a popula- 
tion of many thousands, sunk in the most brutal ignorance and vice, 
and entirely excluded from the ordinances of religion. Moved by 
such feelings, he resolved to address the colliers in their own haunts. 
The resolution was a bold one, for field-preaching was then utterly 
unknown in England, and it needed no common courage to brave all 
the obloquy and derision it must provoke, and to commence the 
experiment in the center of a half-savage population. Whitefield, 
however, had a just confidence in his cause and in his powers. Stand- 
ing himself upon a hillside, he took for his text the first words of the 
sermon which was spoken from the Mount, and he addressed with his 
accustomed fire an astonished audience of some two hundred men. 
The fame of his eloquence spread far and wide. On successive 
occasions, five, ten, fifteen, even twenty thousand were present. It 
was February, but the winter sun shone clear and bright. The lanes 
were filled with carriages of the more wealthy citizens, whom curiosity 
had drawn from Bristol. The trees and hedges were crowded with 
humbler listeners, and the fields were darkened by a compact mass. 
The voice of the great preacher pealed with a thrilling power to the 
outskirts of that mighty throng. The picturesque novelty of the 
occasion and of the scene, the contagious emotion of so great a multi- 
tude, a deep sense of the condition of his hearers and of the momentous 
importance of the step he was taking, gave an additional solemnity to 
his eloquence. His rude auditors were electrified. ‘They stood for a 
time in rapt and motionless attention. Soon tears might be seen 
forming white gutters down cheeks blackened from the coal mine. 
Then sobs and groans told how hard hearts were melting at his 
words. A fire was kindled among the outcasts of Kingswood which 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR eR ie) 


burnt long and fiercely, and was destined in a few years to over- 
spread the land. 

But for the simultaneous appearance of a great orator and a great 
statesman, Methodism would probably have smouldered and at last 
perished like the very similar religious societies of the preceding 
century. Whitefield was utterly destitute of the organizing skill which 
could alone give a permanence to the movement, and no talent is 
naturally more ephemeral than popular oratory; while Wesley, though 
a great and impressive preacher, could scarcely have kindled a general 
enthusiasm had he not been assisted by an orator who had an unrivaled 
power of moving the passions of the ignorant. ‘The institution of 
field-preaching by Whitefield in the February of 1739 carried the 
impulse through the great masses of the poor, while the foundation by 
Wesley, in the May of the same year, of the first Methodist chapel 
was the beginning of an organized body capable of securing and 
perpetuating the results that had been achieved. 

From the time of the institution of lay preachers Methodism 
became in a great degree independent of the Established Church. 
Its chapels multiplied in the great towns, and its itinerant missionaries 

. penetrated to the most secluded districts. ‘They were accustomed to 
preach in fields and gardens, in streets and lecture-rooms, in market 
places and churchyards. On one occasion we find Whitefield at a 
fair mounting a stage which had been erected for some wrestlers, and 
there denouncing the pleasures of the world; on another, preaching 
among the mountebanks at Moorfields; on a third, attracting 

around his pulpit ten thousand of the spectators at a race course; 
on a fourth, standing beside the gallows at an execution to speak of 
death and of eternity. Wesley, when excluded from the pulpit of 
Epworth, delivered some of his most impressive sermons in the 
churchyard, standing on his father’s tomb. Howell Harris, the 
apostle of Wales, encountering a party of mountebanks, sprang into 
their midst exclaiming, in a solemn voice, ‘‘Let us pray,” and then 
proceeded to thunder forth the judgments of the Lord. Rowland 
Hill was accustomed to visit the great towns on market day in order 
that he might address the people in the market place, and to go from 
fair to fair preaching among the revelers from his favorite text, ‘Come 
out from among them.” In this manner the Methodist preachers 
came in contact with the most savage elements of the population, and 


920 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


there were few forms of mob violence they did not experience. In 
1741 one of their preachers named Seward, after repeated ill treatment 
in Wales, was at last struck on the head while preaching at Mon- 
mouth, and died of the blow. Ina riot, while Wheatley was preaching 
at Norwich, a poor woman with child perished from the kicks and 
blows of the mob. At Dublin, Whitefield was almost stoned to death. 
At Exeter he was stoned in the very presence of the bishop. -At 
Plymouth he was violently assaulted and his life seriously threatened 
by a naval officer. 

Scenes of this kind were of continual occurrence, and they were 
interspersed with other persecutions of a less dangerous description. 
Drums were beaten, horns blown, guns let off, and blacksmiths hired 
to ply their noisy trade in order to drown the voices of the preachers. 
Once, at the very moment when Whitefield announced his text, the 
belfry gave out a peal loud enough to make him inaudible. On other 
occasions packs of hounds were brought with the same object, and 
once, in order to excite the dogs to fury, a live cat in a cage was placed 
in their midst. Fire engines poured streams of fetid water upon 
the congregation. Stones fell so thickly that the faces of many grew 
crimson with blood. At Hoxton the mob drove an ox into the midst , 
of the congregation. At Pensford the rabble, who had been baiting 
a bull, concluded their sport by driving the torn and tired animal full 
against the table on which Wesley was preaching. Sometimes we 
find innkeepers refusing to receive the Methodist leaders in their inns, 
farmers entering into an agreement to dismiss every laborer who 
attended a Methodist preacher, landlords expelling all Methodists — 
from their cottages, masters dismissing their servants because they 
had joined the sect. The magistrates, who knew by experience that 
the presence of a Methodist preacher was the usual precursor of 
disturbance and riot, looked on them with the greatest disfavor, and 
often scandalously connived at the persecutions they underwent. 

It was frequently observed by Wesley that his preaching rarely 
affected the rich and the educated. It was over the ignorant and the 
credulous that it exercised its most appalling power, and it is difficult 
to overrate the mental anguish it must sometimes have produced. 
Timid and desponding natures unable to convince themselves that 
they had undergone a supernatural change, gentle and affectionate 
natures who believed that those who were dearest to them were 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR Q2I 


descending into everlasting fire, must have often experienced pangs 
compared with which the torments of the martyr were insignificant. 
The confident assertions of the Methodist preacher and the ghastly 
images he continually evoked poisoned their imaginations, haunted 
them in every hour of weakness or depression, discolored all their 
judgments of the world, and added a tenfold horror to the darkness 
of the grave. Sufferings of this description, though among the most 
real and the most terrible that superstition can inflict, are so hidden 
in their nature that they leave few traces in history; but it is impos- 
sible to read the journals of Wesley without feeling that they were 
most widely diffused. Many were thrown into paroxysms of extreme, 
though usually transient, agony; many doubtless nursed a secret sor- 
row which corroded all the happiness of their lives, while not a few 
became literally insane. On one occasion Wesley was called to the 
bedside of a young woman at Kingswood. He tells us: 


She was nineteen or twenty years old, but, it seems, could not write 
or read. I found her on the bed, two or three persons holding her. It 
was a terrible sight. Anguish, horror, and despair above all description 
appeared in her pale face. The thousand distortions of her whole body 
showed how the dogs of hell were gnawing at her heart. The shrieks inter- 
mixed were scarce to be endured. But her stony eyes could not weep. 
She screamed out as soon as words could find their way, “I am damned, 
damned, lost forever: six days ago you might have helped me. But it is 
past. I am the devil’s now..... I will go with him to hell. I cannot 
be saved.”” ‘They sang a hymn, and for a time she sank to rest, but soon 
broke out anew in incoherent exclamations, “Break, break, poor stony 
hearts! Will you not break? What more can be done for stony hearts? 


I am damned that you may be saved!” . .. . She then fixed her eyes in 
the corner of the ceiling, and said, “There he is, ay, there he is! Come, 
good devil, come! Take me away.” .... We interrupted her by calling 


again on God, on which she sank down as before, and another young woman 
began to roar out as loud as she had done. 


For more than two hours Wesley and his brother continued praying 
over her. At last the paroxysms subsided and the patient joined in 
a hymn of praise. 

In the intense religious enthusiasm that was generated, many of 
the ties of life were snapped in twain. Children treated with con- 
tempt the commands of their parents, students the rules of their 


Q22 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


colleges, clergymen the discipline of their Church. The whole 
structure of society, and almost all the amusements of life, appeared 
criminal. The fairs, the mountebanks, the public rejoicings of the 
people, were all Satanic. It was sinful for a woman to wear any gold 
ornament or any brilliant dress. Jt was even sinful for a man to 
exercise the common prudence of laying by a certain portion of his 
income. When Whitefield proposed to a lady to marry him, he 
thought it necessary to say, “I bless God, if I know anything of my 
own heart, I am free from that foolish passion which the world calls 
love.”’ “I trust I love you only for God, and desire to be joined to 
you only by His commands, and for His sake.” It is perhaps not 
very surprising that Whitefield’s marriage, like that of Wesley, proved 
very unhappy. ‘Theaters and the reading of plays were absolutely 
condemned, and Methodists employed all their influence with the 
authorities to prevent the erection of the former. It seems to have 
been regarded as a divine judgment that once, when Macbeth was 
being acted at Drury Lane, a real thunderstorm mingled with the 
mimic thunder in the witch scene. Dancing was, if possible, even 
worse than the theater. ‘Dancers,’ said Whitefield, ‘‘please the 
devil at every step”’; and it was said that his visit to a town usually 
put “‘a stop to the dancing-school, the assemblies, and every pleasant 
thing.” He made it his mission to “bear testimony against the 
detestable diversions of this generation’’; and he declared that no 
“recreations, considered as such, can be innocent.” 

Accompanying this asceticism we find an extraordinary revival 
of the grossest superstition. It was a natural consequence of the 
essentially emotional character of Methodism that its disciples should 
imagine that every strong feeling or impulse within them was a direct 
inspiration of God or Satan. The language of Whitefield—the 
language in a great degree of all the members of the sect—was that 
of men who were at once continually inspired and the continual 
objects of miraculous interposition. In every perplexity they imag- 
ined that, by casting lots or opening their Bibles at random, they 
could obtain a supernatural answer to their inquiries. 

In all matters relating to Satanic interference, Wesley was espe- 
cially credulous. “TI cannot give up to all the Deists in Great Britain 
the existence of witchcraft till I give up the credit of all history, sacred 
and profane.”’ He had no doubt that the physical contortions into 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 923 


which so many of his hearers fell were due to the direct agency of 
Satan, who tore the converts as they were coming to Christ. He had 
himself seen men and women who were literally possessed by devils; 
he had witnessed forms of madness which were not natural, but 
diabolical, and he had experienced in his own person the hysterical 
affections which resulted from supernatural agency. 

If Satanic agencies continually convulsed those who were coming 
to the faith, divine judgments as frequently struck down those who 
opposed it. Every illness, every misfortune that befell an opponent, 
was believed to be supernatural. Molther, the Moravian minister, 
shortly after the Methodists had separated from the Moravians, was 
seized with a passing illness. ‘“‘I believe,” wrote Wesley, “it was the 
hand of God that was upon him.”’ Numerous cases were cited of 
sudden and fearful judgments which fell upon the adversaries of the 
cause. A clergyman at Bristol, standing up to preach against the 
Methodists, ‘was suddenly seized with a rattling in his throat, 
attended with a hideous groaning,” and on the next Sunday he died. 
At Todmorden a minister was struck with a violent fit of palsy imme- 
diately after preaching against the Methodists. At Enniscorthy a 
clergyman, having preached for some time against Methodism, 
deferred the conclusion of the discourse to the following Sunday. 
Next morning he was raging mad, imagined that devils were about 
him, ‘‘and not long after, without showing the least sign of hope, he 
went to his account.” At Kingswood a man began a vehement 
invective against Wesley and Methodism. ‘In the midst he was 
struck raving mad.’ A woman, seeing a crowd waiting for Wesley 
at the church door, exclaimed, ‘They are waiting for their God.” 
She at once fell senseless to the ground, and next day expired. “A 
party of young men rowed up to Richmond to disturb the sermons of 
Rowland Hill. The boat sank, and all of them were drowned.” At 
Sheffield the captain of a gang who had long troubled the field- 
preachers, was bathing with his companions. ‘Another dip,” he 
said, “and then for a bit of sport with the Methodists.” He dived, 
struck his head against a stone, and appeared no more. By such 
anecdotes and by such beliefs a fever of enthusiasm was sustained. 

But wita all its divisions and defects the movement was unques- 
tionably effecting a great moral revolution in England. It was 
essentially a popular movement, exercising its deepest influence over 








924 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


the lower and middle classes. Some of its leaders were men of real 
genius, but in general the Methodist teacher had little sympathy with 
the more educated of his fellow-countrymen. To. an ordinarily 
cultivated mind there was something extremely repulsive in his tears - 
and groans and amorous ejaculations, in the coarse and anthropo- 
morphic familiarity and the unwavering dogmatism with which he 
dealt with the most sacred subjects, in the narrowness of his theory of 
life and his utter insensibility to many of the influences that expand 
and embellish it, in the mingled credulity and self-confidence with 
which he imagined that the whole course of nature was altered for 
his convenience. But the very qualities that impaired his influence 
in one sphere enhanced it in another. His impassioned prayers and 
exhortations stirred the hearts of multitudes whom a more decorous 
teaching had left absolutely callous. The supernatural atmosphere 
of miracles, judgments, and inspirations in which he moved, invested 
the most prosaic life with a halo of romance. The doctrines he 
taught, the theory of life he enforced, proved themselves capable of 
arousing in great masses of men an enthusiasm of piety which was 
hardly surpassed in the first days of Christianity, of eradicating 
inveterate vice, of fixing and directing impulsive and tempestuous 
natures that were rapidly hastening toward the abyss. Out of the 
profligate slave-dealer, John Newton, Methodism formed one of the 
purest and most unselfish of saints. It taught criminals in Newgate 
to mount the gallows in an ecstasy of rapturous devotion. It planted 
a fervid and enduring religious sentiment in the midst of the most 
brutal and most neglected portions of the population, and whatever 
may have been its vices or its defects, it undoubtedly emancipated 
great numbers from the fear of death, and imparted a warmer tone 
to the devotion and a greater energy to the philanthropy of every 
denomination both in England and the colonies. 


es III. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. Social Unrest 


_ The term collective behavior, which has been used elsewhere to 
\include all the facts of group life, has been limited for the purposes 
of this chapter to those phenomena which exhibit in the most obvious - 
and elementary way the processes by which societies are disintegrated 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 925 


into their constituent elements and the processes by which these 
elements are brought together again into new relations to form new 
organizations and new societies. 

Some years ago John Graham Brooks wrote a popular treatise on 
the labor situation in the United States. He called the volume Social 
Unrest. The term was, even at that time, a familiar one. Since then 
the word unrest, in both its substantive and adjective forms, has 
gained wide usage. We speak in reference to the notorious disposition 
of the native American to move from one part of the country to 
another, of his restless blood, as if restlessness was a native American 
trait transmitted in the blood. We speak more often of the “‘restless 
age,” as if mobility and the desire for novelty and new experience were 
peculiarly characteristic of the twentieth century. We use the word 
to describe conditions in different regions of social life in such expres- 
sions as “political,” “religious,” and “labor” unrest, and in every 
case the word is used in a sense that indicates change, but change that 
menaces the existing order. Finally, we speak of the “restless 
woman,” as of a peculiar modern type, characteristic of the changed 
status of women in general in the modern world. In all these different 
uses we may observe the gradual unfolding of the concept which 
seems to have been implicit in the word as it was first used. It is 
the concept of an activity in response.to some urgent organic impulse 
which the activity, however, does not satisfy. It is a diagnostic 
symptom, a symptom of what Graham Wallas calls ‘‘balked dispo- 
sition.” It is a sign that in the existing situation some one or more 
of the four wishes—security, new experience, recognition, and response 
—has not been and is not adequately realized. The fact that the 
symptom is social, that it is contagious, is an indication that the 
situations that provoke it are social, that is to say, general in the 
community or the group where the unrest manifests itself. 

The materials in which the term unrest is used in the sense indi- 
cated are in the popular discussions of social questions. The term is 
not defined but it is frequently used in connection with descriptions 
of conditions which are evidently responsible for it. Labor strikes 
are evidences of social unrest, and the literature already referred to 
in the chapter on “Conflict’’? shows the conditions under which unrest 


* Supra, pp. 652-53; 657-58. 


926 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


arises, is provoked and exploited in labor situations. The relation 
of unrest to routine and fatigue has been the subject of a good deal of 
discussion and some investigation. The popular conception is that 
labor unrest is due to the dull driving routine of machine industry. 
The matter needs further study. The actual mental experiences of 
the different sexes, ages, temperamental and mental types under 
the influence of routine would add a much needed body of fact to our 
present psychology of the worker. 


2. Psychic Epidemics 


If social unrest is a symptom of disorganization, then the psychic 
epidemics, in which all the phenomena of social unrest and contagion 
are intensified, is evidence positive that disorganization exists. Social 
disorganization must be considered in relation to reorganization. All 
change involves a certain amount of disorganization. In order that 
an individual may make new adjustments and establish new habits 
it is inevitable that old habits should be broken up, and in order that 
society may reform an existing social order a certain amount of 
disorganization is inevitable. Social unrest may be, therefore, a 
symptom of nealth. It is only when the process of disorganization 
goes on so rapidly and to such an extent that the whole existing 
social structure is impaired, and society is, for that reason, not able 
to readjust itself, that unrest is to be regarded as a pathological 
symptom. 

There is reason to believe, contrary to the popular conception, 
that the immigrant in America, particularly in the urban environment, 
accommodates himself too quickly rather than too slowly to American 
life. Statistics show, particularly in the second generation, a notable 
increase in juvenile delinquency, and this seems to be due to the fact 
that in America the relation between parents and children is reversed. 
Owing to the children’s better knowledge of English and their more 
rapid accommodation to the conditions of American life, parents 
become dependent upon their children rather than the children 
dependent upon their parents. 

Social epidemics, however, are evidence of a social disintegration 
due to more fundamental and widespread disorders. The literature 
has recorded the facts but writers have usually interpreted the phe- 
nomena in medical rather than sociological terms. Stoll, in his very 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 927 


interesting but rather miscellaneous collection of materials upon 
primitive life, disposes of the phenomena by giving them another 
name. His volume is entitled Suggestion and Hypnotism in Folk 
Psychology Friedmann, in his monograph, Uber Wahnideen im 
Volkerleben, is disposed as a psychiatrist to treat the whole matter as 
a form of “social” insanity. 


3. Mass Movements 


In spite of the abundance of materials on the subject of mass 
movements no attempt has been made as yet to collect and classify 
them. There have been a number of interesting books in the field 
of collective psychology, so called mainly by French and Italian 
writers—Sighele, Rossi, Tarde, and Le Bon—but they are not based 
on a systematic study of cases. The general assumption has been 
that the facts are so obvious that any attempt to study systematically 
the mechanisms involved would amount to little more than academic 
elaboration of what is already obvious, a restatement in more abstract 
terms of what is already familiar. 

On the other hand, shepherds and cowboys, out of their experience 
in handling cattle and sheep, have learned that the flock and the herd 
have quite peculiar and characteristic modes of collective behavior 
which it is necessary to know if one is to handle them successfully. 
At the same time, practical politicians who make a profession ot 
herding voters, getting them out to the polls at the times they are 
needed and determining for them, by the familiar campaign devices, 
the persons and the issues for which they are to cast their ballots, 
have worked out very definite methods for dealing with masses of 
people, so that they are able to predict the outcome with considerable 
accuracy far in advance of an election and make their dispositions 
accordingly. 

Political manipulation of the movements and tewdencies of 
popular opinion has now reached a point of perfection where it can 
and will be studied systematically. During the world-war it was 
studied, and all the knowledge which advertisers, newspaper men, 
and psychologists possessed was used to win the war. 


Otto Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Volker psychologie. 2d ed. 
(Leipzig, 1904.) 


928 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Propaganda is now recognized as part of the grand strategy of 
war. Not only political and diplomatic victories, but battles were 
won during the world-war by the aid of this insidious weapon. ‘The 
great victory of the Austrian and German armies at Caporetto which 
in a few days wiped out all the hard-won successes of the Italian 
armies was prepared by a psychic attack on the morale of the troops 
at the front and a defeatist campaign among the Italian population 
back of the lines. 


In the battle of Caporetto the morale of the troops at the front was 
undermined by sending postal cards and letters to individual soldiers 
stating that their wives were in illicit relations with officers and soldiers of 
the allies. Copies of Roman and Milanese newspapers were forged and 
absolute facsimiles of familiar journals were secretly distributed or dropped 
from Austrian aeroplanes over the Italian lines. These papers contained 
sensational articles telling the Italians that Austria was in’ revolt, that 
Emperor Charles had been killed. Accompanying these were other articles 
describing bread riots throughout Italy and stating that the Italian govern- 
ment, unable to quell them with its own forces, had sent British and French 
re-enforcing troops and even Zulus into the cities, and that these troops 
were shooting down women and children and priests without mercy. 

This attack upon the morale of the troops was followed by an unforeseen 
assault upon a quiet sector, which succeeded in piercing the line at numerous 
points. In the confusion that followed the whole structure of the defense 
crumbled, and the result was disastrous. 


When the final history of the world-war comes to be written, one 
of its most interesting chapters will be a description of the methods 
and devices which were used by the armies on both sides to destroy 
the will to war in the troops and among the peoples behind the lines. 
If the application of modern science to war has multiplied the engines 
of destruction, the increase of communication and the interpenetration 
of peoples has given war among civilized peoples the character of an 
internal and internecine struggle. Under these circumstances propa- 
ganda, in the sense of an insidious exploitation of the sources of 
dissension and unrest, may as completely change the character of 
wars of peoples as they were once changed by the invention of gun- 
powder. 

In this field there is room for investigation and study, for almost 
all attempts thus far made to put advertising on a scientific basis 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 929 


have been made by students of individual rather than social psy- 
chology. 


4. Revivals, Religious and Linguistic 


For something more than a hundred years Europe has experienced 
a series of linguistic and literary revivals, that is to say revivals of 
the folk languages and the folk cultures. The folk languages are the 
speech of peoples who have been conquered but not yet culturally 
absorbed by the dominant language group. They are mostly isolated 
., rural populations who have remained to a large extent outside of the 
cosmopolitan cultures of the cities. These people while not wholly 
illiterate have never had enough education in the language of the 
dominant peoples of the cities to enable them to use this alien speech 
as a medium of education. The consequence is that, except for a 
relatively small group of intellectuals, they have been cut off from the 
main current of European life and culture. These linguistic revivals 
have not been confined to any one nation, since every nation in 
Europe turns out upon analysis to be a mosaic of minor nationalities 
and smaller cultural enclaves in which the languages of little and for- 
gotten peoples have been preserved. Linguistic revivals have, in fact, 
been well-nigh universal. They have taken place in France, Spain, 
Norway, Denmark, in most of the Balkan States, including Albania, 
the most isolated of them all, and in all the smaller nationalities along 
the Slavic-German border—Finland, Esthonia, Letvia, Lithuania, 
Poland, Bohemia, Slovakia, Roumania, and the Ukraine. Finally, 
among the Jews of Eastern Europe, there has been the Haskala 
Movement, as the Jews of Eastern Europe call their period of enlight- 
enment, a movement that has quite unintentionally made the Judeo- 
German dialect (Yiddish) a literary language. 


At first blush, it seems strange that the revivals of the folk speech 
should have come at a time when the locomotive and the telegraph were 
extending commerce and communication to the uttermost limits of the 
earth, when all barriers were breaking down, and the steady expansion of 
cosmopolitan life and the organization of the Great Society, as Graham 
Wallas has called it, seemed destined to banish all the minor languages, 
dialects, and obsolescent forms of speech, the last props of an international 
provincialism, to the limbo of forgotten things. The competition of the 
world-languages was already keen; all the little and forgotten peoples of 


930 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Europe—the Finns, Letts, Ukrainians, Russo-Carpathians, Slovaks, Slo- 
venians, Croatians, the Catalonians of eastern Spain, whose language, by 
the way, dates back to a period before the Roman Conquest, the Czechs, 
and the Poles—began to set up presses and establish schools to revive and 
perpetuate their several racial languages. 

To those who, at this time, were looking forward to world-organization 
and a universal peace through the medium of a universal language, all this 
agitation had the appearance of an anachronism, not to say a heresy. It 
seemed a deliberate attempt to set up barriers, where progress demanded 
that they should be torndown. ‘The success of such a movement, it seemed, 
must be to bring about a more complete isolation of the peoples, to imprison 
them, so to speak, in their own languages, and so cut them off from the 
general culture of Europe. 


The actual effect has been different from what was expected. 
It is difficult, and for the masses of the people impossible, to learn 
through the medium of a language that they do not speak. The 
results of the efforts to cultivate Swedish and Russian in Finland, 
Polish and Russian in Lithuania, Magyar in Slovakia and at the same 
time to prohibit the publication of books and newspapers in the 
mother-tongue of the country has been, in the first place, to create 
an artificial illiteracy and, in the second, to create in the minds of 
native peoples a sense of social and intellectual inferiority to the - 
alien and dominant race. 

The effect of the literary revival of the spoken language, however, 
has been to create, in spite of the efforts to suppress it, a vernacular 
press which opened the gates of western culture to great masses of 
people for whom it did not previously exist. The result has been 
a great cultural awakening, a genuine renaissance, which has had 
profound reverberations on the political and social life of Europe. 

The literary revival of the folk speech in Europe has invariably been a 
prelude to the revival of the national spirit in subject peoples. The senti- 
ment of nationality has its roots in memories that attach to the common 
possessidns of the people, the land, the religion, and the language, but 
particularly the language. 

Bohemian patriots have a saying, “As long as the language lives, the 
nation is not dead.” In an address in 1904 Jorgen Levland, who was 
afterward Premier of Norway, in a plea for “freedom with self-government, 


t Robert E. Park, Immigrant Press and Its Control, chap. ii, ‘‘ Background of 
the Immigrant Press.” (New York, 1921. In press.) 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 931 


home, land, and our own language,” made this statement: ‘Political 
freedom is not the deepest and greatest. Greater is it for a nation to 
preserve her intellectual inheritance in her native tongue.” 

The revival of the national consciousness in the subject peoples has 
invariably been connected with the struggle to maintain a press in the 
native language. ‘The reason is that it was through the medium. of the 
national press that the literary and linguistic revivals took place. Con- 
versely, the efforts to suppress the rising national consciousness took the 
form of an effort to censor or suppress the national press. There were 
nowhere attempts to suppress the spoken language as such. On the other 
hand, it was only as the spoken language succeeded in becoming a medium 
of literary expression that it was possible to preserve it under modern 
conditions and maintain in this way the national solidarity. When the 
Lithuanians, for example, were condemned to get their education and their 
culture through the medium of a language not their own, the effect was to 
denationalize the literate class and to make its members aliens to their 
own people. If there was no national press, there could be no national 
schools, and, indeed, no national church. It was for this reason that the 
struggle to maintain the national language and the national culture has 
always been a struggle to maintain a national press. 

European nationalists, seeking to revive among their peoples the 
national consciousness, have invariably sought to restore the national 
speech, to purge it of foreign idioms, and emphasize every mark which 
serves to distinguish it from the languages with which it tended to fuse.' 


Investigation of these linguistic revivals and the nationalist 
movement that has grown out of them indicates that there is a very 
intimate relation between nationalist and religious movements. 
Both of them are fundamentally cultural movements with incidental 
political consequences. The movement which resulted in the reorgani- 
zation of rural life in Denmark, the movement that found expression 
in so unique an institution as the rural high schools of Denmark, was 
begun by Bishop Grundtvig, called the Luther of Denmark, and was 
at once a religious and a nationalist movement. The rural high 
schools are for this reason not like anything in the way of education 
with which people outside of Denmark are familiar. They are not 
technical schools but cultural institutions in the narrowest, or broadest, 
sense of that term.? The teaching is “scientific,” but at the same 

t Ibid. 


2Anton H. Hollman, Die ddnische Volkshochschule und thre Bedeutung fiir 
die Entwicklung einer vilkischen Kultur in Dinemark. (Berlin, 1909.) 


932 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


time “inspirational.” They are what a Sunday school might be if it 
were not held on Sunday and was organized as Mr. H. G. Wells would 
organize it and with such a bible as he would like to have someone 
write for us.? 

The popular accounts which we have of religious revivals do not 
at first suggest any very definite relations, either psychological or 
sociological, between them and the literary revivals to which reference 
has just been made. Religious revivals, particularly as described by 
dispassionate observers, have the appearance of something bizarre, 
fantastic, and wild, as indeed they often are. 

What must strike the thoughtful observer, however, is the marked 
similarity of these collective religious excitements, whether among 
civilized or savage peoples and'at places and periods remote in time 
and in space. Frederick Morgan Davenport, who has collected and 
compared the materials in this field from contemporary sources, calls 
attention in the title of his volume, Primitive Traits in Religious 
Revivals, to this fundamental similarity of the phenomena. Whatever 
else the word “primitive” may mean in this connection it does mean 
that the phenomena of religious revivals are fundamentally human. 

From the frantic and disheveled dances of the Bacchantes, 
following a wine cart through an ancient Greek village, to the shouts 
and groans of the mourners’ bench of an old-time Methodist camp- 
meeting, religious excitement has always stirred human nature more 
profoundly than any other emotion except that of passionate love. 

In the volume by Jean Pélissier, The Chief Makers of the National 
Lithuanian Renaissance (Les Principaux artisans de la renaissance 
nationale lituanienne), there is a paragraph describing the conversion 
of a certain Dr. Kudirka, a Lithuanian patriot, to the cause of Lithu- 
anian nationality. It reads like a chapter from William James’s 
The Varieties of Religious Experience. 

It is materials like this that indicate how close and intimate are 
the relations between cultural movements, whether religious or 
literary and national, at least in their formal expression. The ques- 
tion that remains to be answered is: In what ways do they differ ? 

tH. G. Wells, The Salvaging of Civilization, chaps. iv-v, “The Bible of 
Civilization,” pp. 97-140. (New York, 1921.) . 

2See The Immigrant Press and Its Control, chap. ii, for a translation of 
Dr. Kudirka’s so-called “ Confession.” 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 933 


5. Fashion, Reform and Revolution 


A great deal has been written in recent times in regard to fashion. 
It has been studied, for example, as an economic phenomenon. Som- 
bart has written a suggestive little monograph on the subject. It isin 
the interest of machine industry that fashions should be standardized 
over a wide area, and it is the function of advertising to achieve this 
result. It is also of interest to commerce that fashions should change 
and this also is largely, but not wholly, a matter of advertising. 
Tarde distinguishes between custom and fashion as the two forms 
in which all cultural traits are transmitted. ‘In periods when 
custom is in the ascendant, men are more infatuated about. their 
country than about their time; for it is the past which is pre-eminently 
praised. In ages when fashion rules, men are prouder, on the con- 
trary, of their time than of their country.’ 

The most acute analysis that has been made of fashion is con- 
tained in the observation of Sumner in Folkways. Sumner pointed 
out that fashion though differing from, is intimately related to, the 
mores. Fashion fixes the attention of the community at a given 
time and place and by so doing determines what is sometimes called 
the Spirit of the Age, the Zeitgeist. By the introduction of new 
fashions the leaders of society gain that distinction in the community 
by which they are able to maintain their prestige and so maintain 
their position as leaders. But in doing this, they too are influenced 
by the fashions which they introduce. Eventually changes in fashion 
affect the mores.? 

Fashion is related to reform and to revolution, because it is one 
of the fundamental ways in which social changes take place and 
because, like reform and revolution, it also is related to the mores. 

Fashion is distinguished from reform by the fact that the changes 
it introduces are wholly irrational if not at the same time wholly 
unpredictable. Reform, on the other hand, is nothing if not rational. 
It achieves its ends by agitation and discussion. Attempts have 
been made to introduce fashions by agitation, but they have not 
succeeded. On the other hand, reform is itself a fashion and has 


* Gabriel Tarde, The Laws of Imitation. Translated from the 2d French 
ed. by Elsie Clews Parsons, p. 247. (New York, 1903.) 


Sumner, Folkways, pp. 200-201. 


034 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


largely absorbed in recent years the interest that was formerly | 
bestowed on party politics. 

There has been a great deal written about reforms but almost 
nothing about reform. It is a definite type of collective behavior 
which has come into existence and gained popularity under conditions 
of modern life. The reformer and the agitator, likewise, are definite, 
temperamental, and social types. Reform tends under modern 
conditions to become a vocation and a profession like that of the 
politician. The profession of the reformer, however, is social, as 
distinguished from party politics. 

Reform is not revolution. It does not seek to change the mores 
but rather to change conditions in conformity with the mores. ‘There 
have been revolutionary reformers. Joseph II of Austria and Peter 
the Great of Russia were reformers of that type. But revolutionary 
reforms have usually failed. They failed lamentably in the case of 
Joseph II and produced many very dubious results under Peter. 

A revolution is a mass movement which seeks to change the mores 
by destroying the existing social order. Great and silent revolu- 
tionary changes have frequently taken place in modern times, but as 
these changes were not recognized at the time and were not directly 
sought by any party they are not usually called revolutions. They 
might properly be called ‘‘historical revolutions,” since they are not 
recognized as revolutions until they are history. 

There is probably a definite revolutionary process but it has not 
been defined. Le Bon’s book on the Psychology of Revolution, which 
is the sequel to his study of The Crowd, is, to be sure, an attempt, 
but the best that one can say of it is that it is suggestive. Many 
attempts have been made to describe the processes of revolution as 
part of the whole historical process. This literature will be considered 
in the chapter on “ Progress.” 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I. DISORGANIZATION, SOCIAL UNREST, AND PSYCHIC EPIDEMICS 


A. Social Disorganization 


(1) Cooley, Charles H. Social Organization. Chap. xxx, “Formalism 
and Disorganization,” pp. 342-55; chap. xxxi, ‘“ Disorganization: 
the Family,” pp. 356-71; chap. xxxii, “Disorganization: the 
Church,” pp. 372-82; chap. xxxiii, ‘“Disorganization: Other 
Traditions,” pp. 383-92. New York, 1909. 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 935 


(2) Thomas, W. I., and Znaniecki, Florian. The Polish Peasant in 
Europe and America. Monograph of an immigrant group. Vol. 
IV, ‘‘Disorganization and Reorganization in Poland.” Boston, 
1920. 


(3) 





The Polish Peasant in Europe and America. Vol. V, 
“Organization and Disorganization in America,” Part II, ‘‘ Dis- 
organization of the Immigrant,” pp. 165-345. Boston, 1920. 

(4) Friedlander, Ludwig. Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms 
in der Zeit von August bis zum Ausgang der Antonine. oth ed. 
Leipzig, 1922. Translation by L. A. Magnus from the 7th rev. 
ed. under the titie “‘Roman Life and Manners under the Early 
Empire.” 4 vols. London, 1908-13. 

(5) Lane-Poole, S. The Mokammedan Dynasties. Charts showi.z 
“Growth of the Ottoman Empire” and ‘Decline of the Ottoman 
Empire,” pp. 190-91. London, 1894. 

(6) Taine, H. The Ancient Régime. Translated from the French 

, _ by John Durand. New York, 1896. 

(7) Nordau, Max. Degeneration. Translated from the 2d ed. of the 
German work. New York, 1895. 

(8) Patrick, George T. W. The Psychology of Social Reconstruction. 
Chap. vi, ‘‘Our Centripetal Society,” pp. 174-98. Boston, 1920. 

(9) Tyau, M. T. Z. China Awakened. New York, 1922. 

(10) Spengler, Oswald. Der Untergang des Abendlandes. Umrisse 
einer Morphologie der Weltgeschichte. Rev. ed., 2 vols. Miinchen, 
1922. 

(11) The Taint in Politics. A study in the evolution of parliamentary 
corruption. New York, 1920. 

(12) Steiner, Jesse F. ‘Community Disorganization,” Journal of 
Social Forces, II, 1924, 177-87. 

(13) Webb, Sidney and Beatrice. The Decay of Capitalist Civilization. 
New York, 1923. 


[See bibliography, ‘‘ Parties,” pp. 659-60.] 


B. Social Unrest 


(1) Brooks, John Graham. The Social Unrest. Studies in labor 
and socialist movements. London, 1903. 

(2) Fuller, Bampfylde. Life and Human Nature. Chap. ii, ‘‘ Change,” 
pp. 24-45. London, ror4. 

(3) Wallas, Graham. The Great Society. A psychological analysis. 

Chap. iv, ‘Disposition and Environment,” pp. 57-68. New 
York, 1914. [Defines ‘‘the baulked disposition,” see also pp. 172- 
74.] 

(4) Healy, William. The Individual Delinquent. A textbook of 
diagnosis and prognosis for all concerned in understanding offenders. 
“Hypomania, Constitutional Excitement,” pp. 609-13. Boston, 
IQIS. 

(5) Janet, Pierre. The Major Symptoms of Hysteria. Fifteen lectures 
given in the medical school of Harvard University. New York, 
1907. 


930 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(6) Barr, Martin W., and Maloney, E. F. Types of Mental Defectives. 
“Tdiot Savant,” pp. 128-35. Philadelphia, 1920. 

(7) Thomas, Edward. Industry, Emotion and Unrest. New York, 
1920. 

(8) Parker, Carleton H. The Casual Laborer and Other Essays. 
Chap. i, “Toward Understanding Labor Unrest,” pp. 27-59. 
New York, 1920. 

(9) The Cause of World Unrest. With an introduction by the editor 
of The Morning Post (of London). New York, 1920. 

(10) Stoddard, Lothrop. The Revolt against Civilization. 'The menace 
of the under man. New York, 1922. 
(11) Ross, Edward A. The Russian Bolshevik Revolution. New York, 


1921. 

(12) The Russian Soviet Republic. New York, 1923. 

(13) Ghent, W. J. The Reds Bring Reaction. Princeton, 1923. 

(14) Ferrero, Guglielmo. Ancient Rome and Modern America. A 
comparative study of morals and manners. New York, 1g14., 

(15) Veblen, Thorstein. ‘“‘The Instinct of Workmanship and the 
Irksomeness of Labor,” American Journal of Sociology, IV (1898- 
99), 187-201. 

(16) Lippmann, Walter. ‘‘ Unrest,” New Republic, XX (1919), 315-22. 

(17) Tannenbaum, Frank. The Labor Movement. Its conservative 
functions and social consequences. New York, 1921. 

(18) Baker, Ray Stannard. The New Industrial Unrest. Its reason 
and remedy. New York, 1920. 

(19) Stoddard, Lothrop. The New World of Islam. Chapter ix, “Social 
Unrest and Bolshevism,”’ pp. 323-54. New York, 1g2r. 

(20) MacCurdy, J. T. ‘‘Psychological Aspects of the Present Unrest,”’ 
Survey, XLII (1919-20), 665-68. 

(21) Myers, Charles S. Mind and Work. The psychological factors 
in industry and commerce. Chap. vi, ‘Industrial Unrest,” 
pp. 137-69. New York, 1921. 

(22) Adler, H. M. “Unemployment and Personality—a Study of 
Psychopathic Cases,” Mental Hygiene, I (1917), 16-24. 

(23) Chirol, Valentine. Indian Unrest. A reprint, revised and enlarged, 
from The Times, with an introduction by Sir Alfred Lyall. London, 
IQIO. 

(24) Miinsterberg, Hugo. Social Studies of Today. Chap. ii, “‘The 
Educational Unrest,” pp. 25-57. London, 1913. 

(25) American Problems. From the point of view of a psy- 
chologist. Chap. v, “‘The Intemperance of Women,” pp. 103-13. 
New York, 1912. 

(26) Corelli, Marie. “The Great Unrest,” World Today, XXI (1912), 
1954-59. 

(27) Ferrero, Guglielmo. The Women of the Caesars. New York, rott. 

(28) Myerson, Abraham. The Nervous Housewife. Boston, 1920. 

(29) Mensch, Ella. Bilderstiirmer in der Berliner Frauenbeweguneg. 
2ded. Berlin, 1906. 


[See bibliography, ‘‘Industrial Conflict,” pp. 652-53.] 








COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 937 


C. Psychic Epidemics 


(1) Hecker, J. F.C. The Black Death and the Dancing Mania. Trans- 
lated from the German by B. G. Babington. Cassell’s National 
Library. New York, 1888. 

(2) Stoll, Otto. Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Volker psychologte. 
od ed. Leipzig, 1904. 

(3) Friedmann, Max. Uber Wahnideen im Volkerleben. Wiesbaden, 
IQOI. 

(4) Regnard, P. Les maladies épidémiques de Vesprit. Sorcellerie, 
magnétisme, morphinisme, délire des grandeurs. Paris, 1886. 

(5) Meyer, J. L. Schwérmerische Greuelscenen oder Kreuzigungs- 
geschichte einer religidsen Schwdrmerin in Waildensbuch, Canton 
Ziirich. Ein merkwiirdiger Beytrag zur Geschichte des religidsen 
Fanatismus. 2ded. Ziirich, 1824. 

(6) Gowen, B. S. ‘Some Aspects of Pestilences and Other Epi- 
demics,” American Journal of Psychology, XVIII (1907), 1-60. 

(7) Weygandt, W. Beitrag zur Lehre von den psychischen Epidemien. 
Halle, 1905. 

(8) Hi istoire des diables de Loudun. Ou de la possession des Religieuses 
Ursulines et de la condamnation et du supplice d’Urbain Grandier, 
curé de la méme ville, cruels effets de la vengeance du Cardinal de 
Richelieu. Amsterdam, 1740. 

(9) Finsler, G. “Die religidse Erweckung der zehner und zwanziger 
Jahre unseres Jahrhunderts in der deutschen Schweiz,” Ziiricher 
Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1890. Ziirich, 1890. 

(10) Fauriel, M,C. Histoire de la croisade contre les hérétiques Albigeois. 
Ecrite en vers provencaux par un poéte contemporain. (Aiso es 
la consos de la crozada contr els ereges Dalbeges.) Paris, 1837. 

(11) Mosiman, Eddison. Das Zungenreden, geschichtlich und psy- 
chologisch untersucht. Tiibingen, torr. [Bibliography.! 

(12) Vigouroux, A., and Juquelier, P. La contagion mentale. Paris, 
1905. 

(13) Kotik, Dt. Naum. “Die Emanation der psychophysischen 
Energie,” Grenzfragen des Nerven- und Seeleniebens. Wiesbaden, 
1908. 

(14) Aubry, P. ‘De l’influence contagieuse de la publicité des faits 
criminels,” Archives d’anthropologie criminelle, VIII (1893), 565- 
80. 

(15) Achelis, T. Die Ekstace in ihrer kulturellen Bedeutung. Kultur- 
probleme der Gegenwart. Berlin, rgo02. 

(16) Cadiére, L. “Sur quelques Faits religieux ou magiques, observés 
pendant une épidémie de choléra en Annam,” Anthropos, V (1910), 
519-28, 1125-59. 

(17) Hansen, J. Zauberwahn, Inquisition und Hexenprozess im Mittel- 
alter und die Entstehung der grossen Hexenverfolgung. Miinchen, 
IQOO. 

(18) neon J. Quellen und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Hexen- 
wahns und der H exenverfolgung tm Mittelalier. Bonn, tgor. 

(19) Rossi, P. Psicologia collettiva morbosa. ‘Torino, 1901. 

(20) Despine, Prosper. De la Contagion morale. Paris, 1870. 


938 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(21) Moreau de Tours. Dela Contagion du suicide a propos de Vépidémie 
actuelle. Paris, 1875. 

(22) Aubry, P. La Contagion du meutre. Etude d’anthropologie 

~ criminelle. 3ded. Paris, 18096. 

(23) Rambosson, J. Phénoménes nerveux, intellectuels et moraux, leur 
transmission par contagion. Paris, 1883. 

(24) Dumas, Georges. ‘“‘Contagion mentale, épidémies mentales, 
folies collectives, folies grégaires,” Revue plilosophique, LXXI 


(1911), 225-44, 384-407. 
II. MUSIC, DANCE, AND RITUAL 


(1) Wallaschek, Richard. Primitive Music. An inquiry into the 
origin and development of music, songs, instruments, dances, and 
pantomines of savage races. London, 1893. 

(2) Combarieu, J. La Musique et le magic. Etude sur les origines 
populaires de l’art musical; son influence et sa fonction dans les 
sociétés. Paris, 1908. 

(3) Simmel, Georg. ‘“‘Psychologische und ethnologische Studien 
iiber Musik,” Zeitschrift fiir Volkerpsychologie und Sprachwissen- 
schaft, XTII (1882), 261-305. 

(4) Boas, F. ‘‘Chinook Songs,” Journal of American Folk-Lore, I 
(1888), 220-26. 

(s) Densmore, Frances. “‘The Music of the Filipinos,” American 
Anthropologist, N.S., VIII (1906), 611-32. 

(6) Fletcher, Alice C. Indian Story and Song from North America. 
Boston, 1906. 

(7) “Indian Songs and Music,” Journal of American Folk- 
Lore, XI (1898), 85-104. 

(8) Grinnell, G. B. “Notes on Cheyenne Songs,” fimerican Anthro- 
pologist, N.S., V (1903), 312~22. 

(g) Matthews, W. ‘‘Navaho Gambling Songs,” American Anthro- 
pologist, IT (1880), 1-20. 

(10) Hearn, Lafcadio. ‘‘Three Popular Ballads,”*lvransactions of the 
Asiatic Society of Japan, XXIT (1894), 285-336. 

(11) Ellis, Havelock. ‘‘The Philosophy of Dancing,” Aélantic Monthly, 
CXIII (10914), 197~207. by 

(12) Hirn, Yrjé. The Orig‘ns of Art. A psychological and sociological 
inquiry. Chap. xvii, “‘Erotic Art,” pp. 238-48. London, 1goo. 

(13) Pater, Walter. Greek Studies. A series of essays. London, 
IOI. 

(14) Grosse, Ernst. The Beginnings of Art. Chap. viii, ‘The Dance,” 
pp. 207-31. New York, 1808. 

(15) Vogt, von Ogden. Art and Religion. New Haven, 10921. 

(16) Biicher, Kari. Arbeit und Rhythmus. 3d ed. Leipzig, 1902. 

(17) Lhérisson, E. “‘La Danse du vaudou,” Semaine médicale, XIX 
(1899), Ixxiv. 

(18) Reed, V.Z. ‘The Ute Bear Dance,” American Anthropologist, IX 
(1896), 237-44. 

(19) Gummere, F. B. The Beginnings of Poetry. New York, roor. 

(20) Prescott, Frederick C. The Poetic Mind. New York, 1922. 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 939 


(21) Fawkes, J. W. “The Growth of the Hopi Ritual,” Journal of 
American Folk- Lore, XI (1898), 173-04. 

(22) Crawley, A. E. “Processions and Dances,” Encyclopaedia of 
Religion and Ethics, X, 356-62. 

(23) Cabrol, F. Les origines liturgiques. Paris, 1906. 

(24). Gennep, A. van. Les Rites de passage. Paris, 1909. 

(25) Pitre, Giuseppe. Feste patronali in Sicilia. Palermo, tgoo. 

(26) Murray, W. A. “Organizations of Witches in Great Britain,” 
Folk-Lore, XXVIII (1917), 228-58. 

(27) Taylor, Thomas. The Eleusinian and Bacchic Mysteries. New 
York, 18or. 

(28) Tippenhauer, L. G. Die Insel Haiti. Leipzig, 1893. [Describes 
the Voudou Ritual.] 

(29) Wuensch, R. Das Friihlingsfest der Insel Malta. Ein Beitrag 
zur Geschichte der antiken Religion. Leipzig, 1902. 

(30) Loisy, Alfred. Les mystéres paiens et le mystére chrétien. Paris, 


IQIO. 

(31) Lummis, Charles F. The Land of Poco Tiempo. Chap. iv, “The 
Penitent Brothers,” pp. 77-108. New York, 1893. 

(32) ‘‘Los Hermanos Penitentes,” El Palacio, VIII (1920), 3-20, 73-74. 


III. THE CROWD AND THE PUBLIC 

. The Crowd 

(1) Le Bon, Gustave. The Crowd. A study of the popular mind. 
London, 1920. 

(2) Tarde, G. L’Opinion et la foule. Paris, tgot. 

(3) Sighele, S. Psychologie des Auflaufs und der Massenverbrechen. 
Translated from the Italian by Hans Kurella. Leipzig, 1897. 

(4) 


La foule criminelle. Essai de psychologie collective. 
2d ed., entiérement refondue. Paris, 1got. 
(s) Tarde, Gabriel. ‘“‘Foules et sectes au point de vue criminel,” 
Revue des deux mondes, CXX (1893), 349-87. 
(6) Miceli, V. ‘‘La Psicologia della folla,” Rivista italiana di sociologia, 
IIT (1899), 166-95. . 
(7) Tayler, J. Lionel. Social Life and the Crowd. Boston, 1923. 
(8) Conway, M. The Crowd in Peace and War. New York, rg1s. 
(9) Martin, E.D. The Behavior of Crowds. New York, 1920. 
(10) Christensen, A. Politics and Crowd-Morality. New York, 1915. 
(11) Park, R. E. Masse und Publikum. Bern, 1904. 
(12) Freud, Sigmund. Masspsychology and Ego-analysis. New York, 





1923. 

(13) Clark, H. “The Crowd.” “University of Illinois Studies.” 
Psychological Monograph, No. 92, XXI (1916), 26-36. 

(14) Tawney, G. A. “The Nature of Crowds,” Psychological Bulletin, 
IT (1905), 329-33. 

(15) Rossi, P. Le suggesteur et la foule, psychologie du meneur. Paris, 


I suggestionatori e la folla. Torino, 1902. 
“Dell’Attenzione colletiva e sociale,” Manicomio, XXI 


(1905), 248 ff. 








940 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


B. Political Psychology 


(1) Beecher, Franklin A. ‘National Politics in Its Psychological 
Aspect, ” Open Court, XX XIII (1919), 653-61. 

(2) Boutmy, Emile. The English People. A study of their political 
psychology. London, rgo4. 

(3) Palanti ,G: “TL Esprit de corps. (Remarques sociologiques.)” 
Revue philosophique, XLVIII (1899), 135-45. 

(4) Gardner, Chas. S. ‘“‘Assemblies,”’ American Journal of Sociology 
XIX (1914), 531-55. 

(5s) Bentham, Jeremy. Essay on Political Tactics. Containing six 
of the principal rules proper to be observed by a political assembly, 
in the process of forming a decision: with the reasons on which 
they are grounded; and a comparative application of them to — 
British and French practice. London, 1791. 

(6) Tonnies, Ferdinand. ‘‘Die grosse Menge und das Volk,” Schmollers 
Jahrbuch, XLIV (1920), 317-45. [Criticism of Le Bon’s conception 
of the crowd.| 

(7) Botsford, George W. The Roman Assemblies. From their origin 
to the end of the Republic. New York, 1909. 

(8) Crothers, T. D. “A Medical Study of the Jury System,” Popular 
Science M onthly, XLVII (1895), 375-82. 

(9) Coleman, Charles T. ‘Origin and Development of Trial by Jury,” 
Virginia ‘Law Review, VI (1919-20), 77-86. 

(10) Kent, Frank R. The Great Game of Politics. An effort to present 
the elementary human facts about politics, politicians, and political 
machines, candidates and their ways, for the benefit of the average 
citizen. New York, 1923. 

(11) Merriam, Charles E. and Gosnell, Harold F. Non-Voting: Causes 
and Methods of Control. Chicago, 1924. 


PE ———-——_-—_- 


C. Collective Psychology in General 


(1) Rossi, P. Sociologia e psichologia collettiva. 2d ed. Roma, 1909. 

(2) Stratics, A. La Psicologia collettiva. Palermo, 1905. 

(3) Worms, René. ‘Psychologie collective et psychologie indi- 
viduelle,” Revue internationale de sociologie, VII (1899), 249- 


74- 

(4) Brénner, W. “Zur Theorie der kollektiven-psychischen Erschein- 
ungen,” Zeitschrift fiir Philosophie und philosophische Kritik, 
CXLI (1911), 1-40. 

(5s) Newell, W. W. “Individual and Collective Characteristics in 
Folk-Lore,” Journal of American Folk-Lore, XIX (1906), 1-15. 

(6) Campeano, M. Essai de psychologie militaire individuelle et 
collective. Avec une préface de M. Th. Ribot. Paris, 1902. 

(7) Hartenberg, P. ‘‘Les émotions de Bourse. (Notes de psychologie 
collective).” Revue philosophique, LVIII (1904), 163-70. 

(8) Scalinger, G. M. La Psicologia a teatro. Napoli, 1896. 

(9) Burckhard, M. ‘Das Theater.” Die Gesellschaft. Sammlung 
Sozial-Psychologische Monographien, 18. Frankfurt-am-Main, 
1907. 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 941 


(10) Woolbert; C. H. “The Audience.” ‘University of Illinois 
Studies.” Psychological Monograph, No. 92, XXI (1916), 36-54. 

(11) Poward, G. E. ‘Social Psychology of the Spectator,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XVIII (1912), 33-50. 

(12) Peterson, J. “The Functioning of Ideas in Social Groups,” 
Psychological Review, XXV (1918), 214-26. 

(13) Moede, Walther. Experimentelle Massenpsychologie. Leipsic, 1920. 


IV. MASS MOVEMENTS 


(1) Bryce, James. ‘“‘Migrations of the Races of Men Considered 
Historically,” Contemporary Review, LXII (1892), 128-49. 

(2) Mason, Otis T. ‘Migration and the Food Quest: A Study in 
the Peopling of America,” American Anthropologist, VII (1894), 


275-92. 

(3) Pflugk-Harttung, Julius von. The Great Migrations. Translated 
from the German by John Henry Wright. Philadelphia, 1905. 

(4) Bradley, Henry. The Story of the Goths. From the earliest 
times to the end of the Gothic dominion in Spain. New York, 
1888. 

(5) Jordanes. The Origin and Deeds of the Goths. English version 
by Charles C. Mierow. Princeton, 1908. 

(6) Archer, T. A., and Kingsford, C. L. The Crusades. New York, 


1804. 
(7) Ireland, W. W. ‘On the Psychology of the Crusades,” Journal 
of Mental Science, LII (1906), 745-55; LIII (1907), 322-41. 
(8) Groves, E. R. ‘Psychic Causes of Rural Migration,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XXI (1916), 623-27. 
(9) Woodson, Carter G. <A Century of Negro Migrations. Washington, 
1918. [Bibliography.] 
(10) Fleming, Walter L. ‘‘‘Pap’ Singleton, the Moses of the Colored 
Exodus,” American Journal of Sociology, XV (1909-10), 61-82. 
(11) Bancroft,H.H. History of California. Vol. VI, 1848-59. Chaps. 
li-ix, pp. 26-163. San Francisco, 1888. [The discovery of gold 
in California.] 
(12) Down, T. C. ‘The Rush to the Klondike,” Cornhill Magazine, 
IV (1898), 33-43. 
(13) Ziegler, T. Die geistigen und socialen Strémungen des neunzehnten 
Jahrhunderts. Berlin, 1899. 
(14) Zeeb, Frieda B. ‘Mobility of the German Woman,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XXI (1915-16), 234-62. 
(15) Anthony, Katharine S. Feminism in Germany and Scandinavia. 
New York, 1915. [Bibliography.] 
(16) Croly, Jane (Mrs.). The History of the Woman’s Club Movement 
in America. New York, 1808. 
(17) Taft, Jessie. The Woman Movement from the Point of View of 
Social Consciousness. Chicago, 1916. 
(18) Harnack, Adolf. The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in 
the First Three Centuries. Translated from the 2d rev. German 
ed. by James Moffatt. New York, 1908. 


942 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(19) Buck, S. J. The Agrarian Crusade. A chronicle of the farmer in 
politics. New Haven, 1920. ; 

(20) McVey, Frank L. ‘The Populist Movement,” Economic Studies, 
I (1896), 135-209. [Bibliography.] 

(21) Labor Movement. The last six volumes of The Documentary 
History of American Industrial Society. Vols. V-VI, 1820-40, 
by John R. Commons and Helen L. Sumner; Vols. VII-VIII, 
1840-60, by John R. Commons; Vols. [X—X, 1860-80, by John 
R. Commons and John B. Andrews. Cleveland, rgro. 

(22) Begbie, Harold. The Life of General William Booth. The Founder 
of the Salvation Army. 2 vols. New York, 1920. 

(23) Wittenmyer, Annie (Mrs.). History of the Woman’s Temperance 
Crusade. A complete official history of the wonderful uprising 
of the Christian women of the United States against the liquor 
traffic which culminated in the Gospel Temperance Movement. 
Introduction by Frances E. Willard. Philadelphia, 1878. 

(24) Gordon, Ernest. The Anti-alcohol Movement in Europe. New 
York, 1913. 

(25) Cherrington, Ernest H. The Evolution of Prohibition in the United 
States of America. A chronological history of the liquor problem 
and the temperance reform in the United States from the earliest 
settlements to the consummation of national prohibition. Wester- 
ville, Ohio, 1920. 

(26) Rana Clarence E. The Play Movement in the United 
States. A study of community recreation. Chicago, 1921. [Bibli- 
ography.] 

(27) Woods, Robert A. English Social Movements. New York, 18091. 

(28) Zimand, Savel. Modern Social Movements. Descriptive sum- 
maries and bibliographies. New York, 1921. 


V. REVIVALS, RELIGIOUS AND LINGUISTIC 


A. Religious Revivals and the Origin of Sects 


(1) Meader, John R. Article on ‘Religious Sects,” Encyclopaedia 

Americana, XXIII, 355-61. [List of nearly 300 denominations 

and sects. 

Articles on ‘‘Sects,” Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics, XI, 

307-47. [The subject and author of the different articles are 

‘““Sects (Buddhist),” T. W. Rhys Davids; ‘Sects (Chinese),” 

T. Richard; ‘‘Sects (Christian), W. T. Whitley; “‘Sects (Hindu),”’ 

W. Crooke; ‘‘Sects (Jewish),”’ I. Abrahams; ‘‘Sects (Russian),” 

K. Grass and A. von Stromberg; ‘‘Sects (Samaritan),”’ N. Schmidt; 

“‘Sects (Zoroastrian),” E. Edwards. Bibliographies.] 

(3) United States Bureau of the Census. Religious Bodies, 1906. 
2 vols. Washington, 1o1o. 

(4) Religious Bodies, 1916. 2 vols. Washington, 1919. 

(5) Davenport, Frederick M. Primitive Traits in Religious Revivals. 
A study in mental and social evolution. New York, 1905. 


(2 


-=’" 


—_ 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 943 


(6) Mooney, James. ‘“‘The Ghost-Dance Religion and the Sioux 
Outbreak of 1890.” 14th Annual Report of the Bureau of American 
Ethnology (1892-93), 653-1136. 

(7) Shonle, Ruth. ‘The Christianizing Process among Preliterate 
Peoples,” Jaurnal of Religion, IV (1924), 261-80. 

(8) Stalker, James. Article on ‘‘Revivals of Religion,” Encyclopaedia 
of Religion and Ethics, X, 753-57. [Bibliography.] 

(9) Burns, J. Revivals, Their Laws and Leaders. London, 19009. 

(10) Tracy, J. The Great Awakening. A history of the revival of 
religion in the time of Edwards and Whitefield. Boston, 1842. 

(11) Finney, C. G. Autobiography. London, 1892. 

(12) Hayes, Samuel P. “An Historical Study of the Edwardean 
Revivals,” American Journal of Psychology, XIII (1902), 5s50- 


74. 

(13) Maxon, C. H. The Great Awakening in the Middle Colonies. 
Chicago, 1920. [Bibliography.] 

(14) Gibson, William. Year of Grace. Edinburgh, 1860. [Irish 
revival, 1859.] 

(15) Moody, W. R. The Life of Dwight L. Moody. New York, 
1900. 

(16) Bois, Henri. Le Réveil au pays de Galles. Paris, 1906. [Welsh 
revival of 1904-6.] 

(17) Quelques réflexions sur la psychologie des réveils. Paris, 
1906. 

(18) Cartwright, Peter. Autobiography of Peter Cartwright, the Back- 
woods Preacher. Cincinnati, 1859. 

(19) MacLean, J. P. “The Kentucky Revival and Its Influence on 
the Miami Valley,” Ohio Archaeological and Historical Publications, 
XII (1903), 242-86. [Bibliography.] 

(20) Cleveland, Catharine C. The Great Revival in the West, 1797-1805. 
Chicago, 1916. [Bibliography.] 

(21) Rogers, James B. The Cane Ridge Meeting-House. To which is 
appended the autobiography of B. W. Stone. Cincinnati, rgro. 

(22) Stchoukine, Ivan. Le Suicide collectif dans le Raskol russe. Paris, 
1903. 

(23) Bussell, F. W. Religious Thought and Heresy in the Middle Ages. 
London, 10918. 

(24) Gebhart, Emile. Mystics and Heretics in Italy. A history of the 
religious revival in the Middle Ages. ‘Translated from the 
French and with an introduction by E. M. Hulme. New York, 





1923. 

(25) Campbell, Thomas J. The Jesuits, 1534-1921. A history of the 
Society of Jesus from its foundation to the present time. New 
York, 1921. 

(26) Egli, Emil. Die Ziiricher Wiedertéufer zur Reformationszeit. 
Ziirich, 1878. 

(27) Bax, Ernest Belfort. Rise and Fall of the Anabaptists. New 
York, 1903. 


944 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY > 


(28) Schechter, S. Documents of Jewish Sectaries. 2 vols. Cambridge, 
IQIO. ; 

(29) Graetz, H. History of the Jews. 6 vols. Philadelphia, 1891-08. 

(30) Jost, M. Geschichte des Judenthums und seiner Sekten. 3 vols. 
Leipzig, 1857-59. 

(31) Farquhar, J. N. Modern Religious Movements in India. New 
VES, 1015. 

(32) Selbie, W. B. English Sects. A history of non-conformity. 
Home University Library. New York, 1912. 

(33) Barclay, Robert. The Inner Life of the Religious Societies of the 
Commonwealth. London, 1876. [Bibliography.] 

(34) Jones, Rufus M. Studies in Mystical Religion. London, 1909. 

(35) Braithwaite, W. C. Beginnings of Quakerism. London, 1912. 

(36) Jones, Rufus M. The Quakers in American Colonies. London, 
IQII. 

(37) - The Later Periods of Quakerism. London, 1921. 

(38) Evans, F. W. Shakers. Compendium of the origin, history, 
principles, rules and regulations, government, and doctrines of 
the United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing. 
With biographies of Ann Lee, William Lee, James Whittaker, 
J. Hocknell, J. Meacham, and Lucy Wright. New York, 1859. 

(39) Train, J. Zhe Buchanites from First to Last. Edinburgh, 
1846. 

(40) Miller, Edward. The History and Doctrines of Irvingism. Or of 
the so-called Catholic and Apostolic Church. 2 vols. London, 
1878. 

(41) Neatby, W. Blair. A History of the Plymouth Brethren. London, 
IQOT. 

(42) Lockwood, George B. The New Harmony Movement. ‘The 
Rappites.” Chaps. ii-iv, pp. 7-42. [Bibliography.] 

(43) Shambaugh, Berta. Amana. The community of true inspiration. 
Iowa City, 1908. 

(44) James, B. B. The Labadist Colony of Maryland. Baltimore, 
1899. 

(45) Dixon, W. H. Spiritual Wives. 2 vols. London, 1868. 

(46) Randall, E.O. History of the Zoar Society from Its Commencement — 
to Its Conclusion. Columbus, 1899. 

(47) Loughborough, J. N. The Great Second Advent Movement. Its 
rise and progress. Nashville, Tenn., r905. [Adventists.] 

(48) Harlan, Rolvix. John Alexander Dowie and the Christian Catholic 
Apostolic Church in Zion. Evansville, Wis., 1906. 

(49) Smith, Henry C. Mennonites of America. Mennonite Publishing 
House, Scottdale, Pa., r909. [Bibliography.] 

(so) La Rue, William. The Foundations of Mormonism. A study of 
the fundamental facts in the history and doctrines of the Mormons 
from original sources. With introduction by Alfred Williams 
Anthony. New York, 1919. [Bibliography.] 





COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 945 


B. Language Revivals and Nationalism 


(rt) Dominian, Leon. Frontiers of Language and Nationality in Europe. 
New York, 1017. 

(2) Bourgoing,P.de. Les Guerres d’idiome et de nationalité. Paris, 1849. 

(3) Meillet, A. “Les Langues et les nationalités,” Scientia, XVIII 
(1915), 192-201. 

(4) Tegnér, Esaias. Ur sprakens virld. Especially article, “(Om sprak 
och nationalitet,” pp. 95-164. Stockholm, 1922. 

(5) Rhys, John, and Brynmor-Jones, David. The Welsh People. 
Chap. xii, “Language and Literature of Wales,” pp. 5o1-—so. 
London, 1900. 

(6) Dinneen, P. S. Lectures on the Irish Language Movement. Deliv- 
ered under the auspices of various branches of the Gaelic League. 
London, 1904. 

(7) Montgomery, K. L. “Some Writers of the Celtic Renaissance,” 
Fortnightly Review, XCVI (1911), 545-61. 

. “Treland’s Psychology: a Study of Facts,” Fortnightly 

Review, CXII (1919), 572-88. 

(9) Dubois, L. Paul. Contemporary Ireland. With an introduction 
by T. M. Kettle, M. P. London, 1908. 

(10) The Teaching of Gaelic in Highland Schools. Published under the 
auspices of the Highland Association. London, 1907. 

(11) Fedortchouk, Y. ‘‘La Question des nationalités en Autriche- 
Hongrie: les Ruthenes de Hongrie,”’ Annales des nationalités, 
VIII (1915), 52-56. 

(12) Seton-Watson, R. W. [Scotus Viator, pseud.] Racial Problems 
in Hungary. London, 1908. ([Bibliography.] 

(13) Samassa, P. “Deutsche und Windische in Siidésterreich,” 
Deutsche Erde, II (1903), 39-41. 

(14) Wace, A. J. B., and Thompson, M.S. The Nomads of the Balkans. 
London, 1914. 

(15) Tabbé, P. La vivante Roumanie. Paris, 1913. 

(16) Louis-Jarau, G. L’Albanie inconnue. Paris, 1913. 

(17) Brancoff, D. M. La Macédoine et sa population Chrétienne. 
Paris, 1905. 

(18) Fedortchouk, Y. Memorandum on the Ukrainian Question in Its 
National Aspect. London, 1914. 

(19) Vellay, Charles. ‘‘L’Irredentisme hellénique,” La Revue de Paris, 
XX (Juillet-Aotit, 1913), 884-86. 

(20) Sands, B. The Ukraine. London, 1914. 

(21) Auerbach, B. “La Germanization de la Pologne Prussienne. 
La loi d’expropriation,” Revue Politique et Parlementaire, LVII 
(1908), 109-125. 

(22) Bernhard, L. Das polnische Gemeinwesen im preussischen Staat. 
Die Polenfrage. Leipzig, 1910. 

(23) Henry, R. “La Frontiére linguistique en Alsace-Lorraine,” Les 
Marches de lV Est, 1911-1912, pp. 60-71. 





(8) 


946 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(24) Nitsch, C. ‘‘Dialectology of Polish Languages,” _— Encyclo- 
paedia, Vol. III. Cracow, 1915. 

(25) Witte, H. ‘“‘Wendische Bevélkerungsreste in urate i 
F orschungen zur deutschen Landes- und Volkskunde, XVI (1905), 
I-124. 

(26) Kaupas, A. “L’Eglise et les Lituaniens aux Etats-Unis 
d’Amérique,” Annales des Nationalités, IT (1913), 233 ff. 

(27) Pélissier, Jean. Les Principaux artisans de la renaissance nationale 
lituanienne. Hommes et choses de Lituanie. Lausanne, 1918. 

(28) Jakstas, A. “Lituaniens et Polonais.”” Amnales des nationalités, 
VIII (1915), 219 ff. 

(29) Headlam, Cecil. Provence and Languedoc. Chap. v, “Frédéric 
Mistral and the Félibres.”” London, 1912. 

(30) Belisle, A. Histoire de la presse franco-américaine. Comprenant 
Vhistorique de l’émigration des Canadiens-Francais aux Etats- 
Unis, leur développement, et leur progrés. Worcester, Mass., rortr. 


VI. ECONOMIC CRISES 


(1) Wirth, M. Geschichte der Handelskrisen. Frankfurt-am-Main, 
1890. . 

(2) Jones, Edward D. Economic Crises. Nae York, 1900. 

(3) Gibson, Thomas. The Cycles of Speculation. 2d ed. New York, 
19QOO. 

(4) Bellet, Daniel. Crises économiques. Crises commerciales. Crises 
de guerre. Leurs caractéres, leurs indices, leurs effets. Paris, 
1918. 

(5) Clough, H. W. “Synchronous Variations in Solar and Terres- 
trial Phenomena,” Astrophysical Journal, XXII (1905), 42- 


Mays? 
(6) Clayton, H.H. “Influence of Rainfall on Commerce and Politics,” 
Popular Science Monthly, LX (1901-2), 158-65. 
(7) Mitchell, Wesley C. Business Cycles. Berkeley, Cal., 1913. 
(8) “Business Cycles,” Business Cycles and Unemployment. 
Report and recommendations of a committee of the Presi- 
dent’s Conference on Unemployment. Pp. 5-18. New York, 





1923. . 
(9) Moore, Henry L. Economic Cycles: Their Law and Cause. New 
York, 1914. 


(ro) Hurry, Jamieson B. Vicious Circles in Sociology and Their Treat- 
ment. London, rors. 

(11) Thiers, Adolphe. The Mississippi Bubble. A memoir of John 
Law. To which are added authentic accounts of the Darien 
expedition and the South Sea scheme. Translated from the 
French by F. S. Fiske. New York, 1859. 

(12) Wiston-Glynn, A. W. John Law of Lauriston. Financier and 
statesman, founder of the Bank of France, originator of the 
Mississippi scheme, etc. London, 1907. 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 047 


(13) Mackay, Charles. Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions 
and the Madness of Crowds. 2 vols. in one. London, 1859. 
[Vol. I, the Mississippi scheme, the Scuth Sea bubble, the tulip- 
omania, the alchymists, modern prophecies, fortune-telling, the 
magnetisers, influence of politics and religion on the hair and 
beard. Vol. II, the crusades, the witch mania, the slow prisoners, 
haunted houses, popular follies of great cities, popular admiration 
of great thieves, duels and ordeals, relics.] 


VII. FASHION, REFORM, AND REVOLUTION 
A. Fashion 


(1) Spencer, Herbert. Principles of Sociology. Part IV, chap. xi, 
“Fashion,” II, 205-10. London, 1893. 

(2) Tarde, Gabriel. Laws of Imitation. Translated from the 2d 
French ed. by Elsie Clews Parsons. Chap. vii, ‘‘Custom and 
Fashion,” pp. 244-365. New York, 1903. 

(3) Simmel, G. Philosophie der Mode. Berlin, 1905. 

(4) “The Attraction of Fashion,’ International Quarterly, 
X (1904), 130-55. 

(5) Sumner, W. G. Folkways. ‘‘Fashion,” pp. 184-220. Boston, 
1906. 

(6) Sombart, Werner. ‘‘Wirtschaft und Mode,” Gyrenzfragen des 
Nerven- und Seelenlebens. Wiesbaden, 1902. 

(7) Clerget, Pierre. ‘‘The Economic and Social Réle of Fashion,” 
Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution, 1913, pp. 755-65. 
Washington, 1914. 

(8) Squillace, Fausto. La Moda. L’abito é ITuomo. Milano, 
1912. 

(9) Shaler, N. S. “The Law of Fashion,” Aélantic Monthly, LXI 
(1888), 386-08. 

(10) Patrick, G. T. W. ‘‘The Psychology of Crazes,”’ Popular Science 
Monthly, LVII (1900), 285-04. 

(11) Linton, E. L. ‘‘The Tyranny of Fashion,” Forum, III (1887), 
59-68. 

(12) Bigg, Ada H. “What is ‘Fashion’?” Nineteenth Century, 
XXXII (1893), 235-48. 

(13) Foley, Caroline A. ‘Fashion,’ Economic Journal, III (1893), 
458-74. 

(14) Aria, E. ‘Fashion, Its Survivals and Revivals, 
Review, CIV (1915), 930-37. 

(15) Thomas, W. I. ‘‘The Psychology of Woman’s Dress,” American 
Magazine, LX VII (1908-9), 66-72. 

(16) Schurtz, Heinrich. Grundziige einer Philosophie der Tracht. 
Stuttgart, 1871. 

(17) Wechsler, Alfred. Psychologie der Mcde. Berlin, 1904. 

(18) Stratz, Carl H. Die Frauenkleidung und thre natiirliche Entwick- 
lung. Stuttgart, 1904. 





” 


Fortnightly 


948 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(t9) Holmes, William H. ‘Origin and Development of Form and Orna- 
ment in Ceramic Art,” Fourth Annual Report of the U.S. Bureau of 
American Ethnology, 1882-83, pp. 437-65. Washington, 1886. 

(20) Kroeber, A. L. “On the Principle of Order in Civilization as 
Exemplified by Changes of Fashion,” American Anthropologist, 
N.S., XXI (1919), 235-63. 


B. Reform 


(1) Sumner, W.G. Folkways. ‘Reform and Revolution,” pp. 86-95. 
Boston, 1906. 

(2) Patrick, G. T. W. The Psychology of Social Reconstruction. 
Chaps. i-ii, “Psychological Factors in Social Reconstruction,” 
pp. 27-118. Boston, 1920. 

(3) Jevons, William S. Methods of Social Reform. And other papers. 
London, 1883. 

(4) Pearson, Karl. Social Problems. Their treatment, past, present, 
and future. London, 1912. 

(5) Mallock,W.H. Social Reform as Related to Realities and Delusions. 
An examination of the increase and distribution of wealth from 
1801 to r9g10. New York, 1915. 

(6) Matthews, Brander. ‘‘Reform and Reformers,’ North American, 
CLXXXIII (1906), 461-73. 

(7) Miller, J. D. “Futilities of Reformers,’ Arena, XXVI (1901), 
481-89. 

(8) Lippmann, Walter. A Preface to Politics. Chap. v, “Well Mean- 
ing but Unmeaning: The Chicago Vice Report,” pp. 122-58. 
New York, 1913. 

(9) Stanton, Henry B. Sketches of Reforms and Reformers, of Great 
Britain and Ireland. 2d rev. ed. New York, 1850. 

(10) Gibbins, Henry de B. English Social Reformers. London, 1892. 

(11) Stoughton, John. Waliam Wilberforce. London, 1880. 

(12) Field, J. The Life of John Howard. With comments on his 
character and philanthropic labours. London, 1850. 

(13) Hodder, Edwin. The Seventh Earl of Shaftesbury, K. G., as Social 
Reformer. New York, 1808. 

(14) Atkinson, Charles M. Jeremy Bentham, His Life and Work. 
London, 1905. 

(15) Morley, John. The Life of Richard Cobden. Boston, 1890. 

(16) Bartlett, David W. Modern Agitators. Or pen portraits of 
living American reformers. New York, 1855. 

(17) Greeley, Horace. Hints toward Reforms. In lectures, addresses, 
and other writing. New York, 1850. 

(18) Austin, George L. The Life and Times of Wendell Phillips. New 
ed. Boston, root. 

(19) Hill, Georgiana. Women in English Life. From medieval to 
modern times. Period III, chap. v, “The Philanthropists,”’ 
Vol. II, pp. 59-74; Period IV, chap. xi, ‘The Modern Humani- 
tarian Movement,” Vol. II, pp. 227-36. 2 vols. London, 1896. 


———— 


G. 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 949 


(20) Yonge, Charlotte M. Hannah More. Famous women. Boston, 
1888. 


(21) Besant, Annie. An Autobiography. 2d ed. London, 1908. 

(22) Harper, Ida H. The Life and Work of Susan B. Anthony. Includ- 
ing public addresses, her own lectures and many from her con- 
temporaries during fifty years. A story of the evolution of the 
status of woman. 3 vols. Indianapolis, 1898-1908. 

(23) Whiting, Lilian. Women Who Have Ennobled Life. Philadelphia, 
IQIS. 

(24) Willard, Frances E. Woman and Temperance. Or the work and 
workers of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. 3d ed. 
Hartford, Conn., 1883. 

(25) Gordon, Anna A. The Beautiful Life of Frances E. Willard. A 
memorial volume. Introduction by Lady Henry Somerset. 
Chicago, 1808. 

(26) Lasker, Bruno. ‘‘What Has Become of Social Reform?” Ameri- 
can Journal of Sociology, XXVIII (1922), 129-59. 


Revolution 


(1) Le Bon, Gustave. The Psychology of Revolution. Translated 
from the French by Bernard Miall. New York, 1013. 

(2) Petrie, W. M. F. The Revolutions of Civilisation. London, ro12. 

(3) Hyndman, Henry M. The Evolution of Revolution. London, 1920. 

(4) Adams, Brooks. The Theory of Social Revolutions. New York, 
1913. 

(5s) Bauer, Arthur. Essai sur les révolutions. Paris, 1908. 

(6) Landauer, G. Die Revolution. ‘Die Gesellschaft, Sammlung 
sozial-psychologischer Monographien.”” Frankfurt-am-Main, 1907. 

(7) Thomas, W I. Source Book for Social Origins. ‘Crisis and 
Control,” pp. 13-22. Chicago, 1909. ° 

(8) Ellwood, Charles A. ‘A Psychological Theory of Revolutions,” 
American Journal of Sociology, XI (1905-6), 49-59. 

(9) Introduction to Social Psychology. Chap. viii, “Social 
Change under Abnorma! Conditions,” pp. 170-87. New York, 
2017.5 

(10) Edwards, Lyford P. ‘‘Mechanics of Revolution,” St. Stephen’s 
College Bulletin, LXIV (May, 1923), 17-24. 

(11) King, Irving. ‘“‘The Influence of the Form of Social Change 
upon the Emotional Life of a People,” American Journal of Soci- 
ology, IX (1903-4), 124-35. 

(12) Toynbee, Arnold. Lectures on the Industrial Revolution of the 
Eighteenth Century in England. New ed. London, 1908. 

(13) Taine, H. A. The French Revolution. Translated from the 
French by John Durand. 3 vols. New York, 1878-85. 

(14) Olgin, Moissaye J. The Soul of the Russian Revolution. Intro- 
duction by Vladimir G. Simkhovitch. New York, 1917. 

(15) Krapotkin, P. Memoirs of a Revolutionist. Boston, 1899. 

(16) Spargo, John. The Psychology of Bolshevism. New York, 1919. 





950 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


BW oO 


Nn 


re 
IA. 
of Oklahoma, the Migrations of the Mennonnites, the Treks of the 


15. 


16. 


(17) Khoras, P. ‘‘La Psychologie de la révolution chinoise, ” Revue 
des deux mondes, VIII (1912), 295-331. 

(18) Szende, Paul. Die Krise der mitteleuropdischen Relist Ein 
massenpsychologischer Versuch. Tiibingen, 1921. 

(19) Toller, Ernst. Masse Mensch. Ein Stiick aus der sozialen Revo- 
lution des 20 Jahrhunderts. Potsdam, 1921. 

(20) Stoddard, Lothrop. The Revolt against Civilization. The menace 
of the under man. New York, 1922. 

(21) Le Bon, Gustave. The World in Revolt. A psychological study 
of our times. Translated from the French by Bernard Miall. 
New York, 1921. 

(22) Lombroso, Cesare. Le Crime politique et les révolutions par rapport 
au droit, a l’anthropologie criminelle et a science du gouvernement. 
Translated by A. Bouchard. Paris, rgr2. 

(23) Prince, Samuel H. Catastrophe and Social Change. Based upon 
a sociological study of the Halifax disaster. ‘‘Columbia University 
Studies in Political Science.” New York, 1920. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


. Collective Behavior and Social Control 

. Unrest in the Person and Unrest in the Group 

. The Agitator as a Type of the Restless Person 

. A Study of Adolescent Unrest: the Runaway Boy and the Girl Who 


Goes Wrong 


. A Comparison of Physical Epidemics with Social Contagion 
. Case Studies of Psychic Epidemics: the Mississippi Bubble, Gold 


Fever, War-Time Psychosis, the Dancing Mania in Modern Times, etc. 


. Propaganda as Social Contagion: an Analysis of a Selected Case 
. A Description and Interpretation of Crowd Behavior: the Orgy, the 


Cult, the Mob, the Organized Crowd 


. The “Animal” Crowd: the Flock, the Herd, the Pack 
IO. 
Il. 
£2. 


A Description of Crowd Behavior on Armistice Day 

The Criminal Crowd 

The Jury, the Congenial Group, the Committee, the Legislature, the 
Mass Meeting, etc., as Types of Collective Behavior 

Crowd Excitements and Mass Movements 

A Study of Mass Migrations: the Barbarian Invasions, the Settlement 


Boers, the Rise of Mohammedanism, the Mormon Migrations, etc. 
Crusades and Reforms: the Crusades, the Abolition Movement, Pro- 
hibition, the Woman’s Temperance Crusades, Moving-Picture Censor- 
ship, etc. 

Fashions, Revivals, and Revolutions 


ee 
18. 


IQ. 
20. 


tT, 
12. 
73: 
14. 
15. 
16. 


1.7, 
18. 
IQ. 
20. 


21. 


22. 


COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR 951 


The Social Laws of Fashions 

Linguistic Revivals and the Nationalist Movements 

Religious Revivals and the Origin of Sects 

Social Unrest, Social Movements, and Changes in Mores and Insti- 


tutions 
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand by collective behavior ? 
. Interpret the incident in a Lancashire cotton factory in terms of 


sympathy, imitation, and suggestion. 


. What simple forms of social contagion have you observed ? 
. In what sense may the dancing mania of the Middle Ages be compared 


to an epidemic ? 


. Why may propaganda be interpreted as social contagion? Describe 


a concrete instance of propaganda and analyze its modus operandi. 


. What are the differences in behavior of the flock, the pack, and the 


herd ? 
Ts it accurate to speak of these animal groups as “crowds” ? 


. What do you understand Le Bon to mean by “the mental unity of 


crowds”’ ? 


. Describe and analyze the behavior of crowds which you have observed. 
IO. 


“The crowd is always intellectually inferior to the isolated individual.” 
“The crowd may be better or worse than the individual.” Are these 
statements consistent? Elaborate your position. 

In what sense may we speak of sects, castes, and classes as crowds? 
What do you mean by a social movement ? 

What is the significance of a movement ? 

Why is movement to be regarded as the fundamental form of freedom ? 
How does crowd excitement lead to mass movements ? 

What were the differences in the characteristics of mass movements 
in the Klondike Rush, the Woman’s Crusade, Methodism, and bol- 
shevism ? | 

What are the causes of social unrest ? 

What is the relation of social unrest to social organization ? 

How does Le Bon explain the mental anarchy at the time of the French 
Revolution ? 

What was the nature of this mental anarchy in the different social 
classes? Are revolutions always preceded by mental anarchy ? 

What was the relative importance of belief and of reason in the French 
Revolution ? 

What are the likenesses and differences between the origin and develop- 
ment of bolshevism and of the French Revolution ? 


952 INTRODUCTION. TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


23. Do you agree with Spargo’s interpretation of the payee, (a) of 
the intellectual Bolshevists, and (b) of the I.W.W. ? 

24. Are mass movements organizing or disorganizing factors in society? 
Illustrate by reference to Methodism, the French Revolution, and 
bolshevism. , 

25. Under what conditions will a mass movement (a) become organized, 
and (b) become an institution ? 


CHAPTER XIV 


PROGRESS 
I. INTRODUCTION 


1. Popular Conceptions of Progress 


It seems incredible that there should have been a time when 
mankind had no conception of progress. Ever since men first con- 
sclously united their common efforts to improve and conserve their 
common life, it would seem there must have been some recognition 
that life had not always been as they found it and that it could not 
be in the future what it then was. Nevertheless, it has been said that 
the notion of progress was unknown in the oriental world, that the 
opposite conception of deterioration pervaded all ancient Asiatic 
thought. In India the prevailing notion was that of vast cycles of 
time “through which the universe and its inhabitants must pass from 
perfection to destruction, from strength and innocence to weakness 
and depravity until a new maha-yuga begins.’ 

The Greeks conceived the course of history in various ways, 
as progress and as deterioration, but in general they thought of it as 
a cycle. The first clear description of the history of mankind as a 
progression by various stages, from a condition of primitive savagery 
to civilization, is in Lucretius’ great poem De Rerum Natura. But 
Lucretius does not conceive this progress will continue. On the 
contrary he recognizes that the world has grown old and already 
shows signs of decrepitude which foreshadow its ultimate destruction. 

It is only in comparatively recent times that the world has sought 
to define progress philosophically, as part of the cosmic process, and 
has thought of it abstractly as something to be desired for its own 
sake. Today the word progress is in everyone’s mouth; still there is 
no general agreement as to what progress is, and particularly in recent 
years, with all the commonly accepted evidences of progress about 


tRobert Flint, The Philosophy of History in Europe, I, 29-30. (London, 
1874.) 
953 


954 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


them, skeptics have appeared, who, like the farmer who saw for the 
first time a camel with two humps, insisted “there’s no such animal.” 

The reason there is no general understanding in regard to the 
meaning of progress, as it has been defined by the philosophers, is not 
because there is no progress in detail, but because the conception of 
progress in general involves a balancing of the goods against the ills 
of life. It raises the question whether the gains which society makes 
as a whole are compensation for the individual defeats and losses 
which progress inevitably involves. One reason why we believe in 
progress, perhaps, is that history is invariably written by the survivors. 

In certain aspects and with people of a certain temperament, what 
we ordinarily call progress, considering what it costs, will always 
seem a very dubious matter. William Ralph Inge, Dean of St. Paul’s 
Cathedral, London, seems to be the most eminent modern example 
of the skeptic. 


Human nature has not been changed by civilization. It has neither 
been leveled up nor leveled down to an average mediocrity. Beneath the 
dingy uniformity of international fashions in dress, man remains what 
he has always been—a splendid fighting animal, a self-sacrificing hero, 
and a bloodthirsty savage. Human nature is at once sublime and horrible, 
holy and satanic. Apart from the accumulation of knowledge and experi- 
ence, which are external and precarious acquisitions, there is no proof that 
we have changed much since the first stone age.? 


It must be remembered in this connection that progress, in so far 
as it makes the world more comfortable, makes it more complicated. 
Every new mechanical device, every advance in business organization 
or in science, which makes the world more tolerable for most of us, 
makes it impossible for others. Not all the world is able to keep pace 
with the general progress of the world. Most of the primitive races 
have been exterminated by the advance of civilization, and it is still 
uncertain where, and upon what terms, the civilized man will let the 
remnant of the primitive peoples live. 

It has been estimated that, in the complicated life of modern cities, 
at least one-tenth of the population is not competent to maintain an 
independent, economic existence, but requires an increasing amount 


™W. R. Inge, Outspoken Essays, i, “Our Present Discontents,” p.2. (London, 
1919.) 





PROGRESS 955 


of care and assistance from the other nine-tenths.?_ To the inferior, 
incompetent, and unfortunate, unable to keep pace with progress, the 
more rapid advance of the world means disease, despair, and death. 
In medicine and surgery alone does progress seem wholly beneficent, 
but the eugenists are even now warning us that our indiscriminate 
efforts to protect the weak and preserve the incompetent are increasing 
the burdens of the superior and competent, who are alone fit to live. 

On the other hand, every new invention is a response to some 
specific need. Every new form of social control is intended to correct 
some existing evil. So far as they are successful they represent 
progress. Progress in the concrete has reference to recognized social 
values. Values, as Cooley points out, have no meaning except with 
reference to an organism. 

“The organism is necessary to give meaning to the idea [value]; 
there must be worth to something. It need not bea person; a group, 
an institution, a doctrine, any organized form of life will do; and that 
it be conscious of the values that motivate it is not at all essential.’” 

Any change or adaptation to an existing environment that makes 
it easier for a person, group, institution, or other “organized form of 
life’”’ to live may be said to represent progress. Whether the invention 
is a new plow or a new six-inch gun we accept it as an evidence of 
progress if it does the work for which it is intended more efficiently 
than any previous device. In no region of human life have we made 
greater progress than in the manufacture of weapons of destruction. 

Not everyone would be willing to admit that progress in weapons 
of warfare represents “real”? progress. That is because some people 
do not admit the necessity of war. Once admit that necessity, then 
every improvement is an evidence of progress, atleast in that particular 
field. It is more easy to recognize progress in those matters where 
there is no conflict in regard to the social values. The following 
excerpt from Charles Zueblin’s preface to his book on American 
progress is a concrete indication of what students of society usually 
recognize as progress. 

Already this century has witressed the first municipalized street 
railways and telephones in American cities; a national epidemic of street 

1 Charles Booth, Labour and Life of the People, 1,154-55, 598. 2ded. (Lon- 
don, 1889.) 

2 Charles Cooley, The Social Process, p. 284. (New York, 1918.) 


956 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


paving and cleaning; the quadrupling of electric lighting service and the 
national appropriation of display lighting; a successful crusade against dirt 
of all kinds—smoke, flies, germs,—and the diffusion of constructive pro- 
visions for health like baths, laundries, comfort stations, milk stations, school 
nurses and open air schools; fire prevention; the humanizing of the police 
and the advent of the policewomen;, the transforming of some municipal 
courts into institutions for the prevention of crime and the cure of offenders; 
the elaboration of the school curriculum to give every child a complete 
education from the kindergarten to the vocational course in school or 
university or shop; municipal reference libraries; the completion of park 
systems in most large cities and the acceptance of the principle that the 
smallest city without a park and playground is not quite civilized; the 
modern playground movement giving organized and directed play to young 
and old; the social center; the democratic art museum; municipal theaters; 
the commission form of government; the city manager; home rule for 
cities; direct legislation—a greater advance than the whole nineteenth 
century compassed.! 


' 2. The Problem of Progress 


Sociology inherited its conception of progress from the philosophy 
of history. That problem seems to have had its origin in the paradox 
that progress at retail does not insure progress at wholesale. The 
progress of the community as individuals or in specific directions may, 
for example, bring about conditions which mean the eventual destruc- 
tion of the community as a whole. This is what we mean by saying 
that civilizations are born, grow, and decay. We may see the phe- 
nomenon in its simplest form in the plant community, where the very 
growth of the community creates a soil in which the community is no 
longer able to exist. But the decay and death of one community 
creates a soil in which another community will live and grow. This 
gives us the interesting phenomenon of what the ecologists call 
“succession.” So individuals build their homes, communities are 
formed, and eventually there comes into existence a great city. But 
the very existence of a great city creates problems of health, of family 
life, and social control which did not exist when men lived in the open, 
or in villages. Just as the human body generates the poisons that 
eventually destroy it, so the communal life, in the very process of 


™ Charles Zueblin, American Municipal Progress, pp. xi-xii. New and rev. ed. © 
(New York, 1916.) 


PROGRESS 957 


growth and as a result of its efforts to meet the changes that its growth 
involves, creates diseases and vices which tend to destroy the com- 
munity. This raises the problem in another form. Communities 
may and do grow old and die, but new: communities profiting by the 
experience of their predecessors are enabled to create social organiza- 
tions, more adequate and better able to resist social diseases and 
corrupting vices. But in order to do this, succeeding communities 
have had to accumulate more experience, exercise more forethought, 
employ more special knowledge and a greater division of labor. In 
the meantime, life is becoming constantly more complex. In place of 
the simple spontaneous modes of behavior which enable the lower 
animals to live without education and without anxiety, men are 
compelled to supplement original nature with special training and 
with more and more elaborate machinery, until life, losing its sponta- 
neity, seems in danger of losing all its joy. 


Knowledge accumulates apace and its applications threaten the very 
existence of civilized man. The production of the flying machine repre- 
sented a considerable advance in mechanical knowledge; but I am unaware 
of any respect in which human welfare has been increased by its existence; 
whereas it has not only intensified enormously the horrors of war, and, by 
furnishing criminal and other undesirable characters with a convenient 
means of rapid and secret movement, markedly diminished social security, 
but it threatens, by its inevitable advance in construction, to make any 
future conflict virtually equivalent to the extermination of civilized man. 
And the maleficent change in the conditions of human life which the 
flying machine has produced from the air, the submarine parallels from the 
depths of the sea; indeed, the perception of this truth has led to the very 
doubtfully practicable suggestion that the building of submarines be made 


Moreover if life itself is more secure, there is at the present moment 
a distinct tendency towards a diminution of personal liberty. ‘The increas- 
ing control by the state over the conduct and activities of the individual; 
the management of his children, the details of his diet and the conduct of 
his ordinary affairs; tend more and more to limit his personal freedom. 
But the restriction of his liberty amounts to a reduction of his avail- 
able life just as complete loss of liberty differs little from complete loss 
of life. 


™R. Austin Freeman, Social Decay and Regeneration. With an introduction 
by Havelock Ellis. Pp. 16-17. (Boston, 1921.) 


958 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


It is this condition which, in spite of progress in details, has raised 
in men’s minds a question whether there is progress in general, and 
if there is, whether the mass of mankind is better or worse because 
of it. 

3. History of the Concept of Progress 

The great task of mankind has been to create an organization 
which would enable men to realize their wishes. This organization 
we call civilization. In achieving this result man has very slowly at 
first, but more rapidly in recent times, established his control over 
external nature and over himself. He has done this in order that he 
might remake the world as he found it more after his own heart. 

But the world which man has thus remade has in turn reacted 
back upon man and in doing so has made him human. Men build 
houses to protect them from the weather and as places of refuge. 
In the end these houses have become homes, and man has become a 
domesticated animal, endowed with the sentiments, virtues, and 
lasting affections that the home inevitably cultivates and maintains. 

Men made for themselves clothing for ornament and for comfort, 
and men’s, and especially women’s, clothes have become so much a 
part of their personalities that without them they cease to be persons 
and have no status in human society. Except under very exceptional 
circumstances a man who appeared without clothing would be treated 
as a madman, and hunted like a wild animal. 

Men have built cities for security and for trade, and cities have 
made necessary and possible a division of labor and an economic 
organization. This economic organization, on the other hand, has 
been the basis of a society and a social order which imposes standards 
of conduct and enforces minute regulations of the individual life. 
Out of the conditions of this common life there has grown a body of 
general and ruling ideas: liberty, equality, democracy, fate, provi- 
dence, personal immortality, and progress. 

J. B. Bury, who has written a history of the idea of progress, says 
that progress is ‘‘the animating and controlling idea of western civili- 
zation.” But in defining progress he makes a distinction between 
ideas like progress, providence, and fate and ideas like liberty, tolera- 
tion, and socialism. ‘The latter are approved or condemned because 
they are good or bad. The former are not approved or condemned. 
They are matters of fact, they are true or false. He says: 





PROGRESS 959 


When we say that ideas rule the world, or exercise a decisive power in 
history, we are generally thinking of those ideas which express human aims 
and depend for their realisation on the human will, such as liberty, tolera- 
tion, equality of opportunity, socialism. ‘Some of these have been partly 
realised, and there is no reason why any of them should not be fully realised, 
in a society or in the world, if it were the united purpose of a society or of 
the world to realise it. They are approved or condemned because they are 
held to be good or bad, not because they are true or false. But there is - 
another order of ideas that play a great part in determining and directing 
the course of man’s conduct but do not depend on his will—ideas which bear 
upon the mystery of life, such as Fate, Providence, or personal immortality. 
Such ideas may operate in important ways on the forms of social action, 
but they involve a question of fact and they are accepted or rejected not 
because they are believed to be useful or injurious, but because they are 
believed to be true or false. 

The idea of the progress of humanity is an idea of this kind, and it 
is important to be quite clear on the point.? 


All of the ideas mentioned are of such a general nature, embody 
so much of the hopes, the strivings, and the sentiments of the modern 
world, that they have, or did have until very recently, something of 
the sanctity and authority of religious dogmas. All are expressions 
of wishes, but there is this difference: ideas, like liberty, toleration, 
etc., reflect the will of the people who accept them; ideas like provi- 
dence and progress, on the contrary, represent their hopes. The 
question of the progress of humanity like that of personal immortality 
is, as Bury points out, a question of fact. “It is true or false but it 
cannot be proved whether true or false. Belief init is an act of faith.” 
When we hypostatize our hopes and wishes and treat them as matters 
of fact, even though they cannot be proved to be either true or false, 
they assume a form which Sorel describes as myth. ‘The progress 
of humanity, as Herbert Spencer and the other Victorians understood 
it, is such a myth. Dean Inge calls it a “‘superstition” and adds: 
“To become a popular religion, it is only necessary for a superstition 
toenslavea philosophy. ‘The superstition of progress had the singular 
good fortune to enslave at least three philosophies—those of Hegel, 
of Comte, and of Darwin.’” 


tj. B. Bury, The Idea of Progress. An inquiry into its origin and growth, 
p. 1. (London, 1921.) 
| 2W. R. Inge, The Idea of Progress, p. 9. The Romanes Lecture, 1920. 
(Oxford, 1920.) 


960 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


The conception of progress, if a superstition, is one of recent 
origin. It was not until the eighteenth century that it gained general 
acceptance and became part of what Inge describes as the popular 
religion. The conception which it replaced was that of providence. 
But the Greeks and Romans knew nothing of providence. They 
were under the influence of another idea of a different character, the 
idea, namely, of nemesis and fate. And before them there were more 
primitive peoples who had no conception of man’s destiny at all. Ina 
paper, not yet published, Ellsworth Faris has sketched the natural his- 
tory of the idea of progress and its predecessors and of a new concep- 
tion, control, that is perhaps destined to take its place. 


The idea of progress which has been so influential in modern times is 
not a very old conception. In its distinctive form it came into existence 
in the rationalistic period which accompanied the Renaissance. Progress, 
in this sense, means a theory as to the way in which the whole cosmic process 
is developing. It is the belief that the world as a whole is growing better 
through definite stages, and is moving “to one far-off divine event.” 

The stages preceding this idea may be thought of under several heads. 
The first may be called “cosmic anarchy,” in which we find “primitive 
people” now living. It is a world of chaos, without meaning, and with- 
out purpose. There is no direction in which human life is thought of as 
developing. Death and misfortune are for the most part due to witchcraft 
and the evil designs of enemies; good luck and bad luck are the forces which 
make a rational existence hopeless. 

Another stage of thinking is that which was found among the Greeks, 
the conception of the cosmic process as proceeding in cycles. The golden 
age of the Greeks lay in the past, the universe was considered to be follow- 
ing a set course, and the whole round of human experience was governed 
and controlled by an inexorable fate that was totally indifferent to human 
wishes. The formula which finally arose to meet this situation was ‘‘con- 
formity to nature,” a submission to the iron laws of the world which it 
was vain to attempt to change. 

This idea was succeeded in medieval Europe by the idea of providence, 
in which the world was thought of as a theater on which the drama of 
human redemption was enacted. God has created man free, but man was 
corrupted by the fall, given an opportunity to be redeemed by the gospel, 
and the world was soon to know the final triumph and happiness of the 
saved. Most of the early church fathers expected the end of the world 


very soon, many of them in their own lifetime. This is distinctly different. 


from the preceding two ideas. All life had meaning to them, for the evil 


PROGRESS 961 


in the world was but God’s way to accomplish his good purposes. It was 
man’s duty to submit, but submission was to take the form of faith in an 
all-wise beneficent and perfect power, who was governing the world and 
who would make everything for the best. 

The idea of progress arose on the ruins of this concept of providence. 
In the fourteenth century, progress did not mean merely the satisfaction 
of all human desires either individual or collective. The idea meant far 
more than that. It was the conviction that the world as a whole was 
proceeding onward indefinitely to greater and greater perfection. The 
atmosphere of progress was congenial to the construction of utopias and 
schemes of perfection which were believed to be in harmony with the nature 
of the world itself. The atmosphere of progress produced also optimists 
who were quite sure everything was in the long run to be for the best, and 
that every temporary evil was sure to be overcome by an ultimate good. 

The difficulty in demonstrating the fact of progress has become very 
real as the problem has been presented to modern minds. It is possible 
to prove that the world has become more complex. It is hardly pos- 
sible to prove that it has become better, and quite impossible to prove 
that it will continue to doso. From the standpoint of the Mohammedan 
Turks, the last two hundred years of the world’s history have not been 
years of marked progress; from the standpoint of their enemies, the reverse 
statement is obviously true. 

The conception which seems to be superseding the idea of progress in 
our day is that of control. Each problem whether personal or social is 
thought of asa separate enterprise. Poverty, disease, crime, vice, intemper- 
ance, or war, these are definite situations which challenge human effort and 
human ingenuity. Many problems are unsolved; many failures are 
recorded. The future is a challenge to creative intelligence and collective 
heroism. The future is thought of as still to be made. And there is no 
assurance that progress will take place. On the contrary, there is every 
reason to believe that progress will not take place unless men are able by 
their skill and devotion to find solutions for their present problems, and 
for the newer ones that shall arise. 

The modern man finds this idea quite as stimulating to him as the idea 
of progress was to his ancestor of the Renaissance or the idea of providence 
to his medieval forebears. For while he does not blindly believe nor feel 
optimistically certain things will come about all right, yet he is nerved to 
square his shoulders, to think, to contrive, and to exert himself to the utmost 
in his effort to conquer the difficulties ahead, and to control the forces of 
nature and man. The idea of providence was not merely a generalization 
on life, it was a force that inspired hope. The idea of progress was likewise 


962 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


not merely a concept, it was also an energizing influence in a time of 
great intellectual activity. The idea that the forces of nature can be 
controlled in the service of man, differs from the others, but is also a dynamic 
potency that seems to be equally well adapted to the twentieth century. 


The conception that man’s fate lies somehow in his own hands, if 
it gains general acceptance, will still be, so far as it inspires men to 
work and strive, an article of faith, and the image in which he pictures 
the future of mankind, toward which he directs his efforts, will still 
have the character of myth. That is the function of myths. It is 
this that lends an interest to those ideal states in which men at 
different times have sought to visualize the world of their hopes and 
dreams. | 

4. Classification of the Materials 

The purpose of the materials in this chapter is to exhibit the 
variety and diversity of men’s thought with reference to the concept 
of progress. What they show is that there is as yet no general agrée- 
ment in regard to the meaning of the term. In all the special fields 
of social reform there are relatively definite conceptions of what is 
desirable and what is not desirable. In the matter of progress in 
general there is no such definition. Except for philosophical specula- 
tion there is no such thing as “progress in general.” In practice, 
progress turns out to be a number of special tasks. 

The “progress of civilization” is, to be sure, a concept in good 
standing in history. It is, however, a concept of appreciation rather 
than one of description. If history has to be rewritten for every new 
generation of men, it is due not merely to the discovery of new histo- 
rical materials, but just to the fact that there is a new generation. 
Every generation has its own notion of the values of life, and every 
generation has to have its own interpretation of the facts of life. 

It is incredible that Strachey’s Life of Queen Victoria could have 
been written forty years ago. It is incredible that the mass of men 
should have beeu able to see the Victorian Age, as it is here presented, 
while they were living it. 

The materials in this chapter fall under three heads: (a) the 
concept of progress, (6) progress and science, (c) progress and human 
nature. 

a) The concept of progress.—The first difficulty in the study of 
progress is one of definition. What are the signs and symptoms, the 





PROGRESS 963 


criteria of progréss? Until we have framed some sort of a definition 
we cannot know. Herbert Spencer identified progress with evolution. 
The law of organic progress is the law of all progress. Intelligence, 
if we understand by that the mere accumulations of knowledge, does 
not represent progress. Rather it consists in “ those internal modifica- 
tions of which this larger knowledge is an expression.” In so far, 
Spencer’s conception is that of the eugenists. Real progress is in the 
breed—in the germ plasm. For men like Galton, Karl Pearson, and 
Madison Grant,’ what we call civilization is merely the efflorescence 
of race. Civilizations may pass away, but if the racial stock is 
preserved, civilization will reproduce itself. In recent years, a school 
of political philosophy has sprung up in Europe and in the United 
States, which is seeking to define our social policy toward the “‘inner 
enemies,” the dependents, the defectives, and the delinquents, and a 
foreign policy toward immigrant races and foreign peoples, on the 
general conception that the chief aim of society and the state is to 
preserve the germ plasm of the Nordic race.?, For Spencer, however, 
the conception that all values were in the organism was modified by 
the conviction that all life was involved in an irreversible process 
called evolution which would eventually purge the race and society 
of the weak, the wicked, and the unfit. 

In contrast, both with the views of Spencer and of the eugenists, 
Hobhouse, voicing a conviction that was first expressed by Huxley, 
believes that man is bound to intervene in the beneficent law of 
natural selection. He insists, in fact, that social development is 
something quite distinct and relatively independent of the organic 
changes in the individual. It is, in other words, a sociological rather 
than a biological product. It is an effect of the interaction of indi- 
viduals and is best represented by organized society and by the social 
tradition in which that organization is handed on from earlier to 
later generations. 


t Author of The Passing of a Great Race, or the Racial Basis of European History. 
(New York, 1916.) 

2See Lothrop Stoddard, The Rising Tide of Color against White World- 
Supremacy (New York, 1920); and William McDougall, Is America Safe for 
Democracy? (New York, 1921.) 

3Thomas H. Huxley, Evolution and Ethics and Other Lectures, Lecture ii 
pp. 46-116. (New York, 1894.) 


964 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


b) Progress and science.—In contrast with other conceptions of 
progress is that of Dewey, who emphasizes science and social control, 
or, as he puts it, the “problem of discovering the needs and capacities 
of collective human nature as we find it aggregated in racial or national 
groups on the surface of the globe.”’ The distinction between Hob- 
house and Dewey is less in substance than in point of view. Hobhouse, 
looking backward, is interested in progress itself rather than in its 
methods and processes. Dewey, on the other hand, looking forward, 
is interested in a present program and in the application of scientific 
method to the problems of social welfare and world-organization. 

Arthur James Balfour, the most intellectual of the elder statesmen 
of England, looking at progress through the experience of a politician, 
speaks in a less prophetic and authoritative tone, but with a wisdom 
born of long experience with men. For him, as for many other 
thoughtful minds, the future of the race is “encompassed with dark- 
ness,’’ and the wise man is he who is content to act in “‘a sober anda 
cautious spirit,” seeking to deal with problems as they arise. 

c) Progress and human nature.—Progress, which is much a matter 
of interpretation, is also very largely a matter of temperament. The 
purpose of the material upon human nature and progress is to call 
attention to this fact. Progress is with most people an article of 
faith, and men’s faiths, as to their content, at least, are matters of 
temperament. ‘The conservative who perhaps takes a mild interest 
in progress is usually “a sober and cautious” person, fairly content 
with the present and not very sure about the future. The radical, 
on the other hand, is usually a naturally hopeful and enthusiastic 
individual, profoundly pessimistic about the present, but with a 
boundless confidence in even the most impossible future. 

Philosophy, like literature, is, in the final analysis, the expression 
of a temperament, more or less modified by experience. ‘The selec- 
tions from Schopenhauer and Bergson may be regarded, therefore, 
as the characteristic reactions of two strikingly different tempera- 
ments to the conception of progress and to life. The descriptions 
which they give of the cosmic process are, considered formally, not 
unlike. Their interpretations and the practical bearings of these 
interpretations are profoundly different. 

It is not necessary for the students of sociolegy to discuss the 
merits of these different doctrines. We may accept them as human 





PROGRESS 965 


documents. They throw light, at any rate, upon the idea of progress, 
and upon all the other fundamental ideas in which men have sought 
to formulate their common hopes and guide their common life. 


II. MATERIALS 
A. THE CONCEPT OF PROGRESS 
1. The Earliest Conception of Progress? 


The word “progress,” like the word ‘‘humanity,” is one of the 
most significant. It is a Latin word, not used in its current abstract 
sense until after the Roman incorporation of the Mediterranean world. 
The first writer who expounds the notion with sufficient breadth of 
view and sufficiently accurate and concrete observation to provide a 
preliminary sketch was the great Roman poet, Lucretius. 

He begins by describing a struggle for existence in which the less 
well-adapted creatures died off, those who wanted either the power to 
protect themselves or the means of adapting themselves to the pur- 
poses of man. In this stage, however, man was a hardier creature 
than he afterward became. He lived like the beasts of the field and 
was ignorant of tillage or fire or ciothes or houses. He had no laws 
or government or marriage and, though he did not fear the dark, he 
feared the real danger of fiercer beasts. Men often died a miserable 
death, but not in multitudes on a single day as they do now by 
battle or shipwreck. 

The next stage sees huts and skins and fire which softened their 
bodies, and marriage and the ties of family which softened their 
tempers. And tribes began to make treaties of alliance with other 
tribes. Speech arose from the need which all creatures feel to exercise 
their natural powers, just as the calf will butt before his horns pro- 
trude. Men began to apply different sounds to denote different 
things, just as brute beasts will do to express different passions, as 
anyone must have noticed in the cases of dogs and horses and birds. 
No one man set out to invent speech. 

Fire was first learned from lightning and the friction of trees, and 
cooking from the softening and ripening of things by the sun. Then 
men of genius invented improved methods of life, the building of 


t Adapted from F. S. Marvin, Progress and History, pp. 8-10. (Oxford Uni- 
versity Press, 1916.) 


966 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


cities and private property in lands and cattle. But gold gave 
power to the wealthy and destroyed the sense of contentment in 
simple happiness. It must always be so whenever men allow them- 
selves to become the slaves of things which should be their dependents 
and instruments. | 

They began to believe in and worship gods, because they saw in 
dreams shapes of preterhuman strength and beauty and deemed them 


immortal; and as they noted the changes of the seasons and all the 


wonders of the heavens they placed their gods there and feared them 
when they spoke in the thunder. 

Metals were discovered through the burning of the woods, which 
caused the ores to run. Copper and brass came first and were rated 
above gold and silver. And then the metals took the place of hands, 
nails, teeth, and clubs, which had been men’s earliest arms and tools. 
Weaving followed the discovery of the use of iron. Sowing, planting, 
and grafting were learned from nature herself, and gradually the 
cultivation of the soil was carried farther and farther up the hills. 

Men learned to sing from the birds, and to blow on pipes from the 
whistling of the zephyr through the reeds; and those simple tunes 
gave as much rustic jollity as our more elaborate tunes do now. 

Then, in a summary passage at the end, Lucretius enumerates 
all the chief discoveries which men have made in the age-long process— 
ships, agriculture, walled cities, laws, roads, clothes, songs, pictures, 
statues, and all the pleasures of life—and adds, “These things practice 
and the experience of the unresting mind have taught mankind 
gradually as they have progressed from point to point.” 

It is the first definition and use of the word in literature. 


2. Progress and Organization’ 


The current conception of progress is shifting and indefinite. 
Sometimes it comprehends little more than simple growth—as of a 
nation in the number of its members and the extent of territory over 
which it spreads. Sometimes it has reference to quantity of material 
products—as when the advance of agriculture and manufactures 
is the topic. Sometimes the superior quality of these products is 
contemplated; and sometimes the new or improved appliances by 
which they are produced. When, again, we speak of moral or intel- 


* Adapted from Herbert Spencer, Essays, 1I,8-10. (D. Appleton & Co., 1899.) 


PROGRESS 967 


lectual progress, we refer to states of the individual or people exhibiting 
it; while, when the progress of science or art is commented upon, we 
have in view certain abstract results of human thought and action. 

Not only, however, is the current conception of progress more or 
less vague, but it is in great measure erroneous. It takes in not so 
much the reality of progress as its accompaniments—not so much 
the substance as the shadow. That progress in intelligence seen 
during the growth of the child into the man, or the savage into the 
philosopher, is commonly regarded as consisting in the greater number 
of facts known and laws understood; whereas the actual progress 
consists in those internal modifications of which this larger knowledge 
is the expression. Social progress is supposed to consist in the making 
of a greater quantity and variety of the articles required for satisfying 
men’s wants; in the increasing security of person and property; 
in widening freedom of action; whereas, rightly understood, social 
progress consists in those changes of structure in the social organism 
which have entailed these consequences. The current conception 
is a teleological one. The phenomena are contemplated solely as 
bearing on human happiness. Only those changes are held to con- 
stitute progress which directly or indirectly tend to heighten human 
happiness; and they are thought to constitute progress simply 
because they tend to heighten human happiness. But rightly to 
understand progress, we must learn the nature of these changes, 
considered apart from our interests. Ceasing, for example, to regard 
the successive geological modifications that have taken place in the 
earth as modifications that have gradually fitted it for the habitation 
of man, and as therefore constituting geological progress, we must 
ascertain the character common to these modifications—the law to 
which they all conform. And similarly in every other case. Leaving 
out of sight concomitants and beneficial consequences, let us ask 
what progress is in itself. 

In respect to that progress whicb individual organisms display 
in the course of their evolution, this question has been answered by 
the Germans. The investigations of Wolff, Goethe, and von Baer 
have established the truth that the series of changes gone through 
during the development of a seed into a tree, or an ovum into an ani- 
mal, constitute an advance from homogeneity of structure to hetero- 
geneity of structure. In its primary stage, every germ consists of a 


968 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


substance that is uniform throughout, both in texture and chemical 
composition. ‘The first step is the appearance of a difference between 
two parts of this substance; or, as the phenomenon is called in 
physiological language, a differentiation. Each of these differentiated 
divisions presently begins itself to exhibit some contrast of parts; 
and by and by these secondary differentiations become as definite 
as the original one. This process is continuously repeated—is 
simultaneously going on in all parts of the growing embryo; and by 
endless differentiations of this sort there is finally produced that 
complex combination of tissues and organs constituting the adult 
animal or plant. This is the history of all organisms whatever. 
It is settled beyond dispute that organic progress consists in a Change 
from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. 

Now, we propose to show that this law of organic progress is the 
law of all progress. Whether it be in the development of the earth, 
in the development of life upon its surface, in the development of 
society, of government, of manufactures, of commerce, of language, 
literature, science, art—this same evolution of the simple into the 
complex, through successive differentiations, holds throughout. 
From the earliest traceable cosmic changes down to the latest results 
of civilization, we shall find that the transformation of the homoge- 
neous into the heterogeneous is that in which progress essentially 


consists. 
3. The Stages of Progress' 


If we regard the course of human development from the highest 
scientific point of view, we shall perceive that it consists in educing 
more and more the characteristic faculties of humanity, in com- 
parison with those of animality; and especially with those which 
man has in common with the whole organic kingdom. It is in this 
philosophical sense that the most eminent civilization must be pro- 
nounced to be fully accordant with nature, since it is, in fact, only a 
more marked manifestation of the chief properties of our species, 
properties which, latent at first, can come into play only in that 
advanced state of social life for which they are exclusively destined. 
The whole system of biological philosophy indicates the natural 
progression. We have seen how, in the brute kingdom, the superiority 


1 Adapted from Auguste Comte, Positive Philosophy, II, 124. (Triibner & 
Co., 1875.) 


PROGRESS 969 


of each race is determined by the degree of preponderance of the 
animal life over the organic. In like manner we see that our social 
evolution is only the final term of a progression which has continued 
from the simplest vegetables and most insignificant animals, up 
through the higher reptiles to the birds and the mammifers, and 
still on to the carnivorous animals and monkeys, the organic charac- 
teristics retiring and the animal prevailing more and more, till the 
intellectual and moral tend toward, the ascendancy which can never 
be fully obtained, even in the highest state of human perfection that 
we can conceive of. This comparative estimate affords us the 
scientific view of human progression, connected, as we see it is, with 
the whole course of animal advancement, of which it is itself the 
highest degree. The analysis of our social progress proves indeed 
that, while the radical dispositions of our nature are necessarily 
invariable, the highest of them are in a continuous state of relative 
development, by which they rise to be preponderant powers of human 
existence, though the inversion of the primitive economy can never 
be absolutely complete. We have seen that this is the essential 
character of the social organism in a statical view; but it becomes 
much more marked when we study its variations in their gradual 


succession. 
4. Progress and the Historical Process? 


The conclusion which these reflections suggest is that the un- 
critical application of biological principles to social progress results 
in an insuperable contradiction. ‘The factors which determine the 
survival of physical organism, if applied as rules for the furtherance 
of social progress, appear to conflict with all that social progress 
means. A sense of this conflict is no doubt responsible for the further 
reconstruction which the biological view has in recent years under- 
gone. Biologists now begin to inquire seriously whether “natural”’ 
selection may not be replaced by a rational selection in which “fitness 
for survival” would at length achieve its legitimate meaning, and the 
development of the race might be guided by reasoned conceptions of 
social value. This is a fundamental change of attitude, and the new 
doctrine of eugenics to which it has given rise requires careful exami- 
nation. Before proceeding to this examination, however, it will be well 


t Adapted from Leonard T. Hobhouse, Social Evolution and Political Theory, 
pp. 29-39. (The Columbia University Press, 1911.) 


970 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


to inquire into the causes of the contrast on which we have insisted 
between biological evolution and social progress. Faced by this 
contradiction, we ask ourselves whether social development may not 
be something quite distinct from the organic changes known to biology, 
and whether the life of society may not depend upon forces which 
never appear in the individual when he is examined merely as an 
individual or merely as a member of a race. 

Take the latter point first. It is easily seen in the arguments of 
biologists that they conceive social progress as consisting essentially 
in an improvement of the stock to which individuals belong. This 
is a way of looking at the matter intelligible enough in itself. Society 
consists of so many thousand or so many million individuals, and if, 
comparing any given generation with its ancestors, we could estab- 
lish an average improvement in physical, mental, or moral faculty, 
we should certainly have cause to rejoice. ‘There is progress so far. 
But there is another point of view which we may take up. Society 
consists of individual persons and nothing but individual persons, 
just as the body consists of cells and the product of cells. But though 
the body may consist exclusively of cells, we should never under- 
stand its life by examining the lives of each of its cells as a separate 
unit. We must equally take into account that organic interconnec- 
tion whereby the living processes of each separate cell co-operate 
together to maintain the health of the organism which contains them 
all. So, again, to understand the social order we have to take into 
account not only the individuals with their capabilities and achieve- 
ments but the social organization in virtue of which these individuals 
act upon one another and jointly produce what we call social results; 
and whatever may be true of the physical organism, we can see that 
in society it is possible that individuals of the very same potentialities 
may, with good organization, produce good results, and, with bad 
organization, results which are greatly inferior. 

The social phenomenon, in short, is not something which occurs 
in one individual, or even in several individuals taken severally. It 
is essentially an interaction of individuals, and as the capabilities of 
any given individual are extraordinarily various and are only called 
out, each by appropriate circumstances, it will be readily seen that 
the nature of the interaction may itself bring forth new and perhaps 
unexpected capacities, and elicit from the individuals contributing to 





PROGRESS Q71 


it forces which, but for this particular opportunity, might possibly 
remain forever dormant. If this is so, sociology as a science is not 
the same thing as either biology or psychology. It deals neither with 
the physical capacities of individuals as such nor with their psycho- 
logical capacities as such. It deals rather with results produced by 
the play of these forces upon one another, by the interaction of 
individuals under the conditions imposed by their physical environ- 
ment. The nature of the forces and the point of these distinctions 
may be made clear by a very simple instance. 

The interplay of human motives and the interaction of human 
beings is the fundamental fact of social life, and the permanent 
results which this interaction achieves and the influence which it 
exercises upon the individuals who take part in it constitute the 
fundamental fact of social evolution. These results are embodied in 
what may be called, generically, tradition. So understood, tradition 
—its growth and establishment, its reaction upon the very indi- 
viduals who contribute to building it up, and its modifications by 
subsequent interactions—constitutes the main subject of sociological 
inquiry. 

Tradition is, in the development of society, what heredity is in 
the physical growth of the stock. It is the link between past and 
future, it is that in which the effects of the past are consolidated and 


on the basis of which subsequent modifications are built up. We 


might push the analogy a little further, for the ideas and customs 
which it maintains and furnishes to each new generation as guides 
for their behavior in life are analogous to the determinate methods of 
reaction, the inherited impulses, reflexes, and instincts with which 
heredity furnishes the individual. The tradition of the elders is, as 
it were, the instinct of society. It furnishes the prescribed rule for 
dealing with the ordinary occasions of life, which is for the most part 
accepted without inquiry and applied without reflection. It fur-. 
nishes the appropriate institution for providing for each class of social 
needs, for meeting common dangers, for satisfying social wants, for 
regulating social relations. It constitutes, in short, the framework 
of society’s life which to each new generation is a part of its hereditary 
outfit. 

But of course in speaking of tradition as a kind of inheritance we 
conceive of it as propagated by quite other than biological methods. 


972 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


In a sense its propagation is psychological, it is handed on from 
mind to mind, and even though social institutions may in a sense be 
actually incorporated in material things, in buildings, in books, in 
coronation robes, or in flags, still it need not be said that these things 
are nothing but for the continuity of thought which maintains and 
develops their significance. Yet the forces at work in tradition are 
not purely psychological; at least they are not to be understood in 
terms of individual psychology alone. What is handed on is not 
merely a set of ideas but the whole social environment; not merely 
certain ways of thinking or of acting but the conditions which prescribe 
to individuals the necessity for thinking or acting in certain specific 
ways if they are to achieve their own desires. The point is worth 
dwelling on, because some writers have thought to simplify the 
‘working of tradition by reducing it to some apparently simple psy- 
chological phenomenon like that of imitation. In this there is more 
than one element of fallacy. 

Now the growth of tradition will in a sense gravely modify the 
individual members of the society which maintains it. To any given 
set of institutions a certain assemblage of qualities, mental and 
physical, will be most appropriate, and these may differ as muchas 
the qualities necessary for war differ from those of peaceful industry. 
Any tradition will obviously call forth from human beings the qualities 
appropriate to it, and it will in a sense select the individuals in which 
those qualities are the best developed and will tend to bring them to 
the top of the social fabric, but this is not to say that it will assert 
the same modification upon the stock that would be accomplished by 
the working of heredity. The hereditary qualities of the race may 
remain the same, though the traditions have changed and though 
by them one set of qualities is kept permanently in abeyance, 
while the other is continually brought by exercise to the highest 
point of efficiency. 


We are not to conclude that physical heredity is of no importance 


to the social order; it’ must be obvious that the better the qualities 
of the individuals constituting a race, the more easily they will fit 
themselves into good social traditions, the more readily they will 
advance those traditions to a still higher point of excellence, and 
the more stoutly they would resist deterioration. ‘The qualities upon 
which the social fabric calls must be there, and the more readily they 


PROGRESS 973 


are forthcoming, the more easily the social machine will work. Hence 
social progress necessarily implies a certain level of racial development, 
and its advance may always be checked by the limitations of the racial 
type. Nevertheless, if we look at human history as a whole, we are 
impressed with the stability of the great fundamental characteristics 
of human nature and the relatively sweeping character and often 
rapid development of social change. 

In view of this contrast we must hesitate to attribute any sub- 
stantial‘ share in human development to biological factors, and our 
hesitation is increased when we consider the factors on which social 
change depends. It is in the department of knowledge and industry 
that advance is most rapid and certain, and the reason is perfectly 
clear. It is that on this side each generation can build on the work 
of its predecessors. A man of very moderate mathematical capacity 
today can solve problems which puzzled Newton, because he has 
available the work of Newton and of many another since Newton’s 
time. In the department of ethics the case is different. Each man’s 
character has to be formed anew, and though teaching goes for much, 
it is not everything. The individual in the end works out his own 
salvation. Where there is true ethical progress is in the advance of 
ethical conceptions and principles which can be handed on; of laws 
and institutions which can be built up, maintained, and improved. 
That is to say, there is progress just where the factor of social tradition 
comes into play and just so far as its influence extends. If the 
tradition is broken, the race begins again where it stood before the 
tradition was formed. We may infer that, while the race has been 
relatively stagnant, society has rapidly developed, and we must con- 
clude that, whether for good or for evil, social changes are mainly 
determined, not by alterations of racial type, but by modifications 
of tradition due to the interactions of social causes. Progress is not 
racial but social. 

B. PROGRESS AND SCIENCE 
1. Progress and Happiness" 


Human progress may be properly defined as that which secures 
the zncrease of human happiness. Unless it do this, no matter how 
great a civilization may be, it is not progressive. If a nation rise, 


is: rom Lester F’. Ward, Dynamic Sociology, II, 174-77. (D. Appleton & Co., 
1893. 


974 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and extend its sway over a vast territory, astonishing the world with 
its power, its culture, and its wealth, this alone does not constitute 
progress. It must first be shown that its people are happier than 
they would otherwise have been. Ifa people be seized with a rage for 
art, and, in obedience to their impulses or to national decrees, the 
wealth of that people be laid out in the cultivation of the fine arts, 
the employment of master artists, the decoration of temples, public 
and private buildings, and the embellishment of streets and grounds, 
no matter to what degree of perfection this purpose be carried out, 
it is not to progress unless greater satisfaction be derived therefrom 
than was sacrificed in the deprivations which such a course must 
occasion. To be progressive in the true sense, it must work an 
increase in the sum total of human enjoyment. When we survey the 
history of civilization, we should keep this truth in view, and not 
allow ourselves to be dazzled by the splendor of pageantry, the 
glory of heraldry, or the beauty of art, literature, philosophy, or 
religion, but should assign to each its true place as measured by this 
standard. 

It cannot be denied that civilization, by the many false practices 
which it has introduced, by the facilities which its very complexity 
affords to the concealment of crime, and by the monstrous systems 
of corruption which fashion, caste, and conventionality are enabled 
to shelter, ts the direct means of rendering many individuals miserable 
in the extreme; but these are the necessary incidents to its struggles 
to advance under the dominion of natural forces alone. 

It would involve a great fallacy to deduce from this the conclusion 
that civilization begets misery or reduces the happiness of mankind. 
Against this gross but popular mistake may be cited the principle 
before introduced, which is unanimously accepted by biologists, 
that an organism is perfect in proportion as its organs are numerous 
and varied. ‘This is because, the more organs there are, the greater 
is the capacity for enjoyment. For this enjoyment is quantitative as 
well as qualitative, and the greater the number of faculties, the 
greater is the possible enjoyment derivable from their normal exercise. . 
To say that primitive man is happier than enlightened man, is 
equivalent to saying that an oyster or a polyp enjoys more than an 
eagle or an antelope. ‘This could be true only on the ground that 
the latter, in consequence of their sensitive organisms, suffer more 





PROGRESS 975 


than they enjoy; but if to be happy is to escape from all feeling, then 
it were better to be stones or clods, and destitute of conscious sensi- 
bility. If this be the happiness which men should seek, then is the 
Buddhist in the highest degree consistent when he prays for the 
promised Nirvéna, or annihilation. But this is not happiness—it 
is only the absence of it. For happiness can only be increased by 
increasing the capacity for feeling, or emotion, and, when this is 
increased, the capacity for suffering is likewise necessarily increased, 
and suffering must be endured unless sufficient sagacity accompanies 
it to prevent this consequence. And that is the truest progress which, 
while it indefinitely multiplies and increases the facilities for enjoy- 
ment, furnishes at the same time the most effective means of prevent- 
ing discomfort, and, as nearly all suffering is occasioned by the viola- 
tion of natural laws through ignorance of or error respecting those 
laws, therefore that is the truest progress which succeeds in over- 
coming ignorance and error. 

Therefore, we may enunciate the principle that progress is in 
proportion to the opportunities or facilities for exercising the faculties 
and satisfying desire. 


2. Progress and Prevision' 


We have confused rapidity of change with progress. We have 
confused the breaking down of barriers by which advance is made 
possible with advance itself. 

We had been told that the development of industry and commerce 
had brought about such an interdependence of peoples that war was 
henceforth out of the question—at least upon a vast scale. But it is 
now clear that commerce also creates jealousies and rivalries and 
suspicions which are potent for war. We were told that nations 
could not long finance a war under modern conditions; economists 
had demonstrated that to the satisfaction of themseives and others. 
We see now that they had underrated both the production of wealth 
and the extent to which it could be mobilized for destructive purposes. 
We were told that the advance of science had made war practically 
impossible. We now know that science has not only rendered the 
machinery of war more deadly but has also increased the powers of 


t Adapted from John Dewey,. “Progress,” in the International Journal of 
Ethics, XXVI (1916), 312-18. 


976 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


resistance and endurance when war comes. If all this does not 
demonstrate that the forces which have brought about complicated 
and extensive changes in the fabric of society do not of themselves 
generate progress, I do not know what a demonstration would be. 
Has man subjugated physical nature only to release forces beyond 
his control ? 

The doctrine of evolution has been popularly used to give a kind 
of cosmic sanction to the notion of an automatic and wholesale 
progress in human affairs. Our part, the human part, was simply to 
enjoy the usufruct. Evolution inherited all the goods of divine 
Providence and had the advantage of being in fashion. Even a 
great and devastating war is not too great a price to pay for an 
awakening from such an infantile and selfish dream. Progress is not 
automatic; it depends upon human intent and aim and upon accept- 
ance of responsibility for its production. It is not a wholesale matter, 
but a retail job, to be contracted for and executed in sections. 

Spite of the dogma which measures progress by increase in 
altruism, kindliness, peaceful feelings,-there is no reason that I know 
of to suppose that the basic fund of these emotions has increased 
appreciably in thousands and thousands of years. Man is equipped 
with these feelings at birth, as well as with emotions of fear, anger, 
emulation, and resentment. What appears to be an increase in one 
set and a decrease in the other set is, in reality, a change in their 
social occasions and social channels. Civilized man has not a better 
_ endowment of ear and eye than savage man; but his social surround- 
ings give him more important things to see and hear than the savage 
has, and he has the wit to devise instruments to reinforce his eye 
and ear—the telegraph and telephone, the microscope and telescope. 
But there is no reason for thinking that he has less natural aggres- 
siveness or more natural altruism—or will ever have—than the 
barbarian. But he may live in social conditions that create a rela- 
tively greater demand for the display of kindliness and which turn 
his aggressive instincts into less destructive channels. 

There is at any time a sufficient amount of kindly impulses 
possessed by man to enable him to live in amicable peace with all 
his fellows; and there is at any time a sufficient equipment of bellicose 
impulses to keep him in trouble with his fellows. An intensification 
of the exhibition of one may accompany an intensification of the 


display of the other, the only difference being that social arrangements ~ 


PROGRESS 977 


cause the kindly feelings to be displayed toward one set of fellows 
and the hostile impulses toward another set. Thus, as everybody 
knows, the hatred toward the foreigner characterizing peoples now 
at war is attended by an unusual manifestation of mutual affection 
and love within each warring group. So characteristic is this fact 
that that man was a good psychologist who said that he wished that 
this planet might get into war with another planet, as that was the 
only effective way he saw of developing a world-wide community of 
interest in this globe’s population. 

The indispensable preliminary condition of progress has been 
supplied by the conversion of scientific discoveries into inventions 
which turn physical energy, the energy of sun, coal, and iron, to 
account. Neither the discoveries nor the inventions were the product 
of unconscious physical nature. They were the product of human 
devotion and application, of human desire, patience, ingenuity, 
and mother-wit. The problem which now confronts us, the problem 
of progress, is the same in kind, differing in subject-matter. It is a 
problem of discovering the needs and capacities of collective human 
nature as we find it aggregated in racial or national groups on the 
surface of the globe, and of inventing the social machinery which will 
set available powers operating for the satisfaction of those needs. 

We are living still under the dominion of a laissez faire philosophy. 
I do not mean by this an individualistic, as against a socialistic, 
philosophy. I mean by it a philosophy which trusts the direction of 
human affairs to nature, or Providence, or evolution, or manifest 
destiny—that is to say, to accident—rather than to a contriving and 
constructive intelligence. ‘To put our faith in the collective state 
instead of in individual activity is quite as laissez faire a proceeding 
as to put it in the results of voluntary private enterprise. The 
only genuine opposite to a go-as-you-please, let-alone philosophy 
is a philosophy which studies specific social needs and evils with a 
view to constructing the special social machinery for which they call. 


3. Progress and the Limits of Scientific Prevision’ 


Movement, whether of progress or of retrogression, can commonly 
be brought about only when the sentiments opposing it have been 
designedly weakened or have suffered a natural decay. In this 


From The Mind of Arthur James Balfour, by Wilfrid M. Short, pp. 293-97. 
(Copyright 1918, George H. Doran Company, publishers.) 


978 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


destructive process, and in any constructive process by which it may 
be followed, reasoning, often very bad reasoning, bears, at least in 
western communities, a large share as cause, a still larger share as 
symptom; so that the clatter of contending argumentation is often 
the most striking accompaniment of interesting social changes. Its 
position, therefore, and its functions in the social organism are fre- 
quently misunderstood. People fall instinctively into the habit of 
supposing that, as it plays a conspicuous part in the improvement or 
deterioration of human institutions, it therefore supplies the very basis 
on which they may be made to rest, the very mold to which they ought 
to conform; and they naturally conclude that we have only got to 
reason more and to reason better in order speedily to perfect the 
whole machinery by which human felicity is to be secured. 

Surely this is a great delusion. A community founded upon 
argument would soon be a community no longer. It would dissolve 
into its constituent elements. Think of the thousand ties most subtly 
woven out of common sentiments, common tastes, common beliefs, 
nay, common prejudices, by which from our very earliest childhood 
we are all bound unconsciously but indissolubly together into a com- 
pacted whole. Imagine these to be suddenly loosed and their places 
taken by some judicious piece of reasoning on the balance of advan- 
tage, which, after taking all proper deductions, still remains to the 
credit of social life. ‘These things we may indeed imagine if we 
please. Fortunately, we shall never see them. Society is founded 
—and from the nature of the human beings which constitute it, must, 
in the main, be always founded—not upon criticism but upon feelings 
and beliefs, and upon the customs and codes by which feelings and 
beliefs are, as it were, fixed and rendered stable. And even where 
these harmonize, so far as we can judge, with sound reason, they are 
in many cases not consciously based on reasoning; nor is their fate 
necessarily bound up with that of the extremely indifferent arguments 
by which, from time to time, philosophers, politicians, and, I will 
add, divines have thought fit to support them. 

We habitually talk as if a self-governing or free community was 
one which managed its own affairs. In strictness, no community 
manages its own affairs, or by any possibility could manage them. 
It manages but a narrow fringe of its affairs, and that in the main by 
deputy. It is only the thinnest surface layer of law and custom, 
belief and sentiment, which can either be successfully subjected to 





PROGRESS 979 


destructive treatment, or become the nucleus of any new growth—a 
fact which explains the apparent paradox that so many of our most 
famous advances in political wisdom are nothing more than the 
formal recognition of our political impotence. 

As our expectations of limitless progress for the race cannot 
depend upon the blind operation of the laws of heredity, so neither 
can they depend upon the deliberate action of national governments. 
Such examination as we can make of the changes which have taken 
place during the relatively minute fraction of history with respect to 
which we have fairly full information shows that they have been 
caused by a multitude of variations, often extremely small, made in 
their surroundings by individuals whose objects, though not neces- 
sarilv selfish, have often had no intentional reference to the advance- 
ment of the community at large. But we have no scientific ground 
for suspecting that the stimulus to these individual efforts must 
necessarily continue; we know of no law by which, if they do con- 
tinue, they must needs be co-ordinated for a common purpose or 
pressed into the service of a common good. We cannot estimate 
their remoter consequences; neither can we tell how they will act 
and react upon one another, nor how they will in the long run affect 
morality, religion, and other fundamental elements of human society. 
The future of the race is thus encompassed with darkness; no faculty 
of calculation that we possess, no instrument that we are likely to 
invent, will enable us to map out its course, or penetrate the secret 
of its destiny. It is easy, no doubt, to find in the clouds which 
obscure our paths what shapes we please: to see in them the promise 
of some millennial paradise, or the threat of endless and unmeaning 
travel through waste and perilous places. But in such visions the 
wise man will put but little confidence, content, in a sober and cautious 
spirit, with a full consciousness of his feeble powers of foresight and 
the narrow limits of his activity, to deal as they arise with the problems 
of his own generation. 


4. Eugenics as a Science of Progress’ 


Eugenics is the science which deals with all influences that improve 
the inborn qualities of a race; also with those that develop them to 
the utmost advantage. 


* From Francis Galton, ‘‘Eugenics: Its Definition, Scope, and Aims,” in the 
American Journal of Sociology, X (1904-5), 1-6. 


980 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


What is meant by improvement? There is considerable differ- 
ence between goodness in the several qualities and in that of the 
characterasa whole. Thecharacter depends largely on the proportion 
between qualities whose balance may be much influenced by educa- 
tion. We must therefore leave morals as far as possible out of the 
discussion, not entangling ourselves with the almost hopeless diff- 
culties they raise as to whether a character as a whole is good or bad. 
Moreover, the goodness or badness of character is not absolute, but 
relative to the current form of civilisation. A fable will best explain 
what is meant. Let the scene be the Zodlogical Gardens in the quiet 
hours of the night, and suppose that, as in old fables, the animals 
are able to converse, and that some very wise creature who had easy 
access to all the cages, say a philosophic sparrow or rat, was engaged 
in collecting the opinions of all sorts of animals with a view of elaborat- 
ing a system of absolute morality. It is needless to enlarge on the con- 
trariety of ideals between the beasts that prey and those they prey 
upon, between those of the animals that have to work hard for their 
food and the sedentary parasites that cling to their bodies and suck 
their blood and so forth. A large number of suffrages in favour of 
maternal affection would be obtained, but most species of fish would 
repudiate it, while among the voices of birds would be heard the 
musical protest of the cuckoo. Though no agreement could be 
reached as to absolute morality, the essentials of Eugenics may be 
easily defined. All creatures would agree that it was better to be 
healthy than sick, vigorous than weak, well fitted than ill fitted for their 
part in life. In short, that it was better to be good rather than bad 
specimens of their kind, whatever that kind might be. So with men. 
There are a vast number of conflicting ideals of alternative characters, 
of incompatible civilisations; but all are wanted to give fulness and 
interest to life. Society would be very dull if every man resembled the 
highly estimable Marcus Aurelius or Adam Bede. The aim of Eugenics 
is to represent each class or sect by its best specimens; that done, to 
leave them to work out their common civilisation in their own way. 

The aim of Eugenics is to bring as many influences as can be 
reasonably employed, to cause the useful classes in the community to 
contribute more than their proportion to the next generation. 

The course of procedure that lies within the functions of a learned 
and active Society such as the Sociological may become, would be 
somewhat as follows: 





PROGRESS 981 


1. Dissemination of a knowledge of the laws of heredity so far as 
they are surely known, and promotion of their further study. Few 
seem to be aware how greatly the knowledge of what may be termed 
the actuarial side of heredity has advanced in recent years. The 
average closeness of kinship in each degree now admits of exact 
definition and of being treated mathematically, like birth- and death- 
rates, and the other topics with which actuaries are concerned. 

2. Historical inquiry into the rates with which the various classes 
of society (classified according to civic usefulness) have contributed 
to the population at various times, in ancient and modern nations. 
There is strong reason for believing that national rise and decline is 
closely connected with this influence. It seems to be the tendency 
of high civilisation to check fertility in the upper classes, through 
numerous causes, some of which are well known, others are inferred, 
and others again are wholly obscure. The latter class are apparently 
analogous to those which bar the fertility of most species of wild 
animals in zodlogical gardens. Out of the hundreds and thousands 
of species that have been tamed, very few indeed are fertile when 
their liberty is restricted and their struggles for livelihood are abol- 
ished; those which are so and are otherwise useful to man becoming 
domesticated. There is perhaps some connection between this. 
obscure action and the disappearance of most savage races when 
brought into contact with high civilisation, though there are other 
and well-known concomitant causes. But while most barbarous 
races disappear, some, like the Negro, do not. It may therefore 
be expected that types of our race will be found to exist which can 
be highly civilised without losing fertility; nay, they may become 
more fertile under artificial conditions, as is the case with many 
domestic animals. 

3. Systematic collection of facts showing the circumstances under 
which large and thriving families have most frequently originated; 
in other words, the conditions of Eugenics. The names of the thriving 
families in England have yet to be learnt; and the conditions under 
which they have arisen. We cannot hope to make much advance in 
the science of Eugenics without a careful study of facts that are now 
accessible with difficulty, if at all. The definition of a thriving family, 
such as will pass muster for the moment at least, is one in which the 
children have gained distinctly superior positions to those who were 
their classmates in early life. Families may be considered “large” 


982 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


that contain not less than three adult male children. The point to be 
ascertained is the status of the two parents at the time of their mar- 
riage, whence its more or less eugenic character might have been pre- 
dicted, if the larger knowledge that we now hope to obtain had then 
existed. Some account would, of course, be wanted of their race, pro- 
fession, and residence; also of their own respective parentages, and 
of their brothers and sisters. Finally, the reasons would be required 
why the children deserved to be entitled a “thriving” family, to 
distinguish worthy from unworthy success. This manuscript col- 
lection might hereafter develop into a “golden book” of thriving 
families. The Chinese, whose customs have often much sound 
sense, make their honours retrospective. We might learn from them 
to show that respect to the parents of noteworthy children, which 
the contributors of such valuable assets to the national wealth richly 
deserve. 

4. Influences affecting Marriage. The passion of love seems so 
overpowering that it may be thought folly to try to direct its course. 
But plain facts do not confirm this view. Social influences of all 
kinds have immense power in the end, and they are very various. 
If unsuitable marriages from the eugenic point of view were banned 
socially, or even regarded with the unreasonable disfavour which 
some attach to cousin marriages, very few would be made. The 
multitude of marriage restrictions that have proved prohibitive 
among uncivilised people would require a volume to describe. 

5. Persistence in setting forth the national importance of Eugen- 
ics. ‘There are three stages to be passed through. F~rsély,it must be 
made familiar as an academic question, until its exact importance 
has been understood and accepted as a fact; secondly, it must be 
recognised as a subject whose practical development deserves serious 
consideration; and thirdly, it must be introduced into the national 
conscience, like a new religion. It has, indeed, strong claims to 
become an orthodox religious tenet of the future, for Eugenics co- 
operates with the workings of Nature by securing that humanity 
shall be represented by the fittest races. What Nature does blindly, 
slowly, and ruthlessly, man may do providently, quickly, and kindly. 
I see no impossibility in Eugenics becoming a religious dogma among 
mankind, but its details must first be worked out sedulously in the 
study. The first and main point is to secure the general intellectual 
acceptance of Eugenics as a hopeful and most important study. Ther 





PROGRESS | 983 


let its principles work into the heart of the nation, who will gradually 
give practical effect to them in ways that we may not wholly foresee. 


C. PROGRESS AND HUMAN NATURE 
1. The Nature of Man? 


Man is certainly an animal that, when he lives at all, lives for 
ideals. Something must be found to occupy his imagination, to 
raise pleasure and pain into love and hatred, and change the prosaic 
alternative between comfort and discomfort into the tragic one 
between happiness and sorrow. Now that the hue of daily adventure 
is so dull, when religion for the most part is so vague and accommo- 
dating, when even war is a vast impersonal business, nationality seems 
to have slipped into the place of honor. It has become the one elo- 
quent, public, intrepid illusion-—illusion, I mean, when it is taken for 
an ultimate good or a mystical essence, for of course nationality is.a 
fact. It is natural for a man to like to live at home, and to live long 
elsewhere without a sense of exile is not good for his moral integrity. 
It is right to feel a greater kinship and affection for what lies nearest 
to one’s self. But this necessary fact and even duty of nationality is 
accidental; like age or sex it is a physical fatality which can be made 
the basis of specific and comely virtues; but it is not an end to pur- 
sue or a flag to flaunt or a privilege not balanced by a thousand 
incapacities. Yet of this distinction our contemporaries tend to 
make an idol, perhaps because it is the only distinction they feel they 
have left. 

Everywhere in the nineteenth century we find a double preoccu- 
pation with the past and with the future, a longing to know what all 
experience might have been hitherto, and on the other hand to hasten 
to some wholly different experience, to be contrived immediately 
with a beating heart and with flying banners. The imagination of 
the age was intent on history; its conscience was intent on reform. 


2. Progress and the Mores? 


What now are some of the leading features in the mores of civi- 
lized society at the present time? Undoubtedly they aremonogamy, 


t Adapted from G. Santayana, Winds of Doctrine, pp. 6-8. (Charles Scrib- 
ner’s Sons, 1913.) 

2 Adapted from W. G. Sumner, “The Mores of the Present and the Future,” 
in the Yale Review, XVIII (1909-10), 235-36. (Quoted by special permission of 
the Yale Review.) 


984 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


anti-slavery, and democracy. All people now are more nervous than 

‘anybody used to be. Social ambition is great and is prevalent in all 
classes. ‘The idea of class is unpopular and is not understood. ‘There 
is a superstitious yearning for equality. There is a decided prefer- 
ence for city life, and a stream of population from the country into 
big cities. These are facts of the mores of the time. Our societies 
are almost unanimous in their response if there is any question raised 
on these matters. 

Medieval people conceived of society under forms of status as 
generally as we think of it under forms of individual liberty. The 
mores of the Orient and Occident differ from each other now, as they 
apparently always have differed. ‘The Orient is a region where time, 
faith, tradition, and patience rule. The Occident forms ideals and 
plans, and spends energy and enterprise to make new things with 
thoughts of progress. All details of life follow the leading ways of 
thought of each group. We can compare and judge ours and theirs, 
but independent judgment of our own, without comparison with 
other times or other places, is possible only within narrow limits. 

Let us first take up the nervous desire and exertion which mark 
the men of our time in the western civilized societies. ‘There is a 
wide popular belief in what is called progress. The masses in all 
civilized states strain toward success in some adopted line. Strug- 
gling and striving are passionate tendencies which take possession of 
groups from time to time. The newspapers, the popular literature, 
_and the popular speakers show this current and popular tendency. 
This is what makes the mores. Mi 


3. War and Progress' 


Let us see what progress means. It is a term which covers 
several quite different things. 

There is material progress, by which I understand an increase in 
wealth, that is, in the commodities useful to man, which give him 
health, strength, and longer life, and make his life easier, providing 
more comfort and more leisure, and thus enabling him to be more 
physically efficient, and to escape from that pressure of want which 
hampers the development of his whole nature. 


* Adapted from James Bryce, Essays and Addresses in War Time, pp. 84-102. 


(Published by The Macmillan Co., 1918. Reprinted by permission.) ; 


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PROGRESS 985 


There is intellectual progress—an increase in knowledge, a greater 
abundance of ideas, the training to think, and to think correctly, the 
growth in capacity for dealing with practical problems, the cultiva- 
tion of the power to enjoy the exercise of thought and the pleasures 
of letters and art. 

There is moral progress—a thing harder to define, but which 
includes the development of those emotions and habits which make 
for happiness—contentment and tranquility of mind; the absence of 
the more purely animal and therefore degrading vices (such as 
intemperance and sensuality in all its other forms); the control of 
the violent passions; good will and kindliness toward others—all the 
things which fall within the philosophical conception of a life guided 
by right reason. People have different ideas of what constitutes 
happiness and virtue, but these things are at any rate included in 
every such conception. 

A further preliminary question arises. Is human progress to be 
estimated in respect to the point to which it raises the few who have 
high mental gifts and the opportunity of obtaining an education 
fitting them for intellectual enjoyment and intellectual vocations, or 
is it to be measured by the amount of its extension to and diffusion 
through each nation, meaning the nation as a whole—the average 
man as well as the superior spirits? You may sacrifice either the 
many to the few—as was done by slavery—or the few to the many, 
or the advance may be general and proportionate in all classes. 

Again, when we think of progress, are we to think of the world 
as a whole, or only of the stronger and more capable races and 
states? If the stronger rise upon the prostrate bodies of the weaker, 
is this clear gain to the world, because the stronger will ultimately 
do more for the world, or is the loss and suffering of the weaker to 
be brought into the account? I do not attempt to discuss these 
questions; it is enough to note them as fit to be remembered; for 
perhaps all three kinds of progress ought to be differently judged if 
a few leading nations only are to be regarded, or if we are to think 
of all mankind. 

It is undeniable that war has often been accompanied by an 
advance in civilization. If we were to look for progress only in time 
of peace there would have been little progress to discover, for mankind 
has lived in a state of practically permanent warfare. The Egyptian 


986 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and Assyrian monarchs were always fighting. The author of the 
Book of Kings speaks of spring as the time when kings go forth to 
war, much as we should speak of autumn as the time when men go | 
forth to shoot deer. “War is the natural relation of states to one 
another,’ said Plato. The fact has been hardly less true since his day, 
though latterly men have become accustomed to think of peace as 
the normal, war as the abnormal or exceptional, relation of states to 
one another. In the ancient world, as late as the days of Roman 
conquest, a state of peace was the rare exception among civilized 
states as well as barbarous tribes. But Carthage, like her Phoenician 
mother-city, went on building up a mighty commerce till Rome smote 
her down, and the Hellenic people, in its many warring cities, went 
on producing noble poems and profound philosophical speculations, 
and rearing majestic temples and adorning them with incomparable 
works of sculpture, in the intervals of their fighting with their neigh- 
bors of the same or other races. The case of the Greeks proves that 
war and progress are compatible. 

The capital instance of the association of war with the growth 
and greatness of a state is found in Prussia. One may say that her 
history is the source of the whole thesis and the basis of the whole 
argument. It is a case of what, in the days when I learned logic 
at the University of Oxford, we used to call the induction from a 
single instance. Prussia, then a small state, began her upward march 
under the warlike and successful prince whom her people call the 
Great Elector. Her next long step to greatness was taken by 
Frederick II, again by favor of successful warfare, though doubtless 
also by means of a highly organized, and for those days very efficient, 
administration. Voltaire said of Frederick’s Prussia that its trade 
was war. Another war added to her territory in 1814-15. Three 
successful wars—those of 1864, 1866, and 1870-71—made her the 
nucleus of a united German nation and the leading military power 
of the Old World. | 

Ever since those victories her industrial production, her commerce, 
and her wealth have rapidly increased, while at the same time 
scientific research has been prosecuted with the greatest vigor and 
on a scale unprecedentedly large. These things were no doubt 
achieved during a peace of forty-three years. But it was what one 
may call a belligerent peace, full of thoughts of war and preparations 





PROGRESS 987 


for war. There is no denying that the national spirit has been 
carried to a high point of pride, energy, and self-confidence, which 
have stimulated effort in all directions and secured extraordinary 
efficiency in civil as well as in military administration. Here, then, 
is an instance in which a state has grown by war and a people has 
been energized by war. 

Next, let us take the cases which show that there have been in 
many countries long periods of incessant war with no corresponding 
progress in the things that make civilization. I will not speak of 
semi-barbarous tribes, among the more advanced of which may be 
placed the Albanians and the Pathans and the Turkomans, while 
among the more backward were the North American Indians and the 
Zulus. But one may cite the case of the civilized regions of Asia 
under the successors of Alexander, when civilized peoples, distracted 
by incessant strife, did little for the progress of arts or letters or 
government, from the death of the great conqueror till they were 
united under the dominion of Rome and geo from her a time of 
comparative tranquillity. 

The Thirty Years’ War is an example of long-continued fighting 
which, far from bringing progress in its train, inflicted injuries on 
Germany from which she did not recover for nearly two centuries. 
In recent times there has been more fighting in South and Central 
America, since the wars of independence, than in any other civilized 
countries. Yet can anyone say that anything has been gained by 
the unending civil wars and revolutions, or those scarcely less frequent 
wars between ‘the several republics, like that terrible one thirty 
years ago in which Peru was overcome by Chile? Or look at Mexico. 
Except during the years when the stern dictatorship of Porfirio 
Diaz kept order and equipped the country with roads and railways, 
her people have made no perceptible advance and stand hardly 
higher today than when they were left to work out their own salvation 
a hundred years ago. Social and economic conditions have doubtless 
been against her. All that need be remembered is that warfare 
has not bettered those conditions or improved the national character. 

If this hasty historical survey has, as I frankly admit, given us 
few positive and definite results, the reason is plain. Human progress 
is affected by so many conditions besides the presence or absence of 
fighting that it is impossible in any given case to pronounce that it 
has been chiefly due either to war or to peace. ‘Two conclusions, 


988 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


however, we may claim to have reached, though they are rather 
negative than positive. One is that war does not necessarily arrest 
progress. Peoples may advance in thought, literature, and art 
while they are fighting. ‘The other is that war cannot be shown to 
have been a cause of progress in anything except the wealth or power 
of a state which extends its dominions by EES or draws tribute 
from the vanquished. 

What, then, are the causes to which the progress of mankind 
is due? It is due partly, no doubt, if not to strife, to competition. 
But chiefly to thought, which is more often hindered than helped 
by war. It is the races that know how to think, rather than the far 
more numerous races that excel in fighting rather than in thinking, 
that have led the world. Thought, in the form of invention and 
inquiry, has given us those improvements in the arts of life and in 
the knowledge of nature by which material progress and comfort 
have been obtained. Thought has produced literature, philosophy, 
art, and (when intensified by emotion) religion—all the things that 
make life worth living. Now the thought of any people is most 
active when it is brought into contact with the thought of another, 
because each is apt to lose its variety and freedom of play when it 
has worked too long upon familiar lines and flowed too long in the 
channels it has deepened. Hence isolation retards progress, while 
intercourse quickens it. 

The great creative epochs have been those in which one people 
of natural vigor received an intellectual impulse from the ideas of 
another, as happened when Greek culture began to penetrate Italy, 
and thirteen centuries later, when the literature of the ancients 
began to work on the nations of the medieval world. 

Such contact, with the process of learning which follows from it, 
may happen in or through war, but it happens far oftener in peace; 
and it is in peace that men have the time and the taste to profit fully 
by it. A study of history will show that we may, with an easy 
conscience, dismiss the theory of Treitschke—that war is a health- 
giving tonic which Providence must be expected constantly to offer 
to the human race for its own good. 

The future progress of mankind is to be sought, not through the 
strifes and hatreds of the nations, but rather by their friendly co- 
operation in the healing and enlightening works of peace and in the 





PROGRESS 989 


growth of a spirit of friendship and mutual confidence which may 
remove the causes of war. 


4. Progress and the Cosmic Urge 
a. The “Elan Vitale’? 


All life, animal and vegetable, seems in its essence like an effort 
to accumulate energy and then to let it flow into flexible channels, 
changeable in shape, at the end of which it will accomplish infinitely 
varied kinds of work. ‘That is what the vital impetus, passing through 
matter, would fain do all at once. It would succeed, no doubt, if its 
power were unlimited, or if some reinforcement could come to it from 
without. But the impetus is finite, and it has been given once for all. 
It cannot overcome all obstacles. The movement it starts is some- 
times turned aside, sometimes divided, always opposed; and the 
evolution of the organized world is the unrolling of this. conflict. 
The first great scission that had to be effected was that of the two 
kingdoms, vegetable and animal, which thus happen to be mutually 
complementary, without, however, any agreement having been 
made between them. To this scission there succeeded many others. 
Hence the diverging lines of evolution, at least what is essential in 
them. But we must take into account retrogressions, arrests, acci- 
dents of every kind. And we must remember, above all, that each 
species behaves as if the general movement of life stopped at it instead 
of passing through it. It thinks only of itself, it lives only for itself. 
Hence the numberless struggles that we behold in nature. Hence a 
discord, striking and terrible, but for which the original principle of 
life must not be held responsible. 

It is therefore conceivable that life might have assumed a totally 
different outward appearance and designed forms very different from 
those we know. With another chemical substratum, in other physi- 
cal conditions, the impulsion would have remained the same, but it 
would have split up very differently in course of progress; and the 
whole would have traveled another road—whether shorter or longer 
who can tell? In any case, in the entire series of living beings no 
term would have been what it now is. 


*From Henri Bergson, Creative Evolution, translated by Arthur Mitchell, 
pp. 253-71. (Henry Holt & Co., 1913.) 


990 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


There are numerous cases in which nature seems to hesitate 
between the two forms, and to ask herself if she shall make a society 
or an individual. The slightest push is enough, then, to make the 
balance weigh on one side or the other. If we take an infusorian 
sufficiently large, such as the Stentor, and cut it into two halves each 
containing a part of the nucleus, each of the two halves will generate 
an independent Stentor; but if we divide it incompletely, so that a 
protoplasmic communication is left between the two halves, we shall 
see them execute, each from its side, corresponding movements; 
so that in this case it is enough that a thread should be maintained or 
cut in order that life should affect the social or the individual form. 
Thus, in rudimentary organisms consisting of a single cell, we already 
find that the apparent individuality of the whole is the composition 
of an undefined number of potential individualities potentially asso- 
ciated. But, from top to bottom of the series of living beings, the 
same law is manifested. And it is this that we express when we say 
that unity and multiplicity are categories of inert matter, that the 


vital impetus is neither pure unity nor pure multiplicity, and that if 


the matter to which it communicates itself compels it to choose one of 
the two, its choice will never be definitive: it will leap from one to the 
othe: indefinitely. The evolution of life in the double direction of 
individuality and association has therefore nothing accidental about 
it: it is due to the very nature of life. 

Essential also is the progress to reflexion. If our analysis is 
correct, it is consciousness, or rather supra-consciousness, that is at 
the origin of life. Consciousness, or supra-consciousness, is the name 
for the rocket whose extinguished fragments fall back as matter; con- 
sciousness, again, is the name for that which subsists of the rocket 
itself, passing through the fragments and lighting them up into 


organisms. But this consciousness, which is a need of creation, is 


made manifest to itself only where creation is possible. It lies 
dormant when life is condemned to automatism; it wakens as soon 
as the possibility of a choice is restored. ‘That is why, in organisms 
unprovided with a nervous system, it varies according to the power of 
locomotion and of deformation of which the organism disposes. And 
in animals with a nervous system, it is proportional to the complexity 
of the switchboard on which the paths called sensory and the paths 
called motor intersect—that is, of the brain. 


PROGRESS 9gl 


Consciousness corresponds exactly to the living being’s power of 
choice; it is coextensive with the fringe of possible action that sur- 
rounds the real action: consciousness is synonymous with invention 
and with freedom. Now, in the animal, invention is never anything 
but a variation on the theme of routine. Shut up in the habits of the 
species, it succeeds, no doubt, in enlarging them by its individual 
initiative; but it escapes automatism only for an instant, for just 
the time to create a new automatism. ‘The gates of its prison close 
as soon as they are opened; by pulling at its chain it succeeds only in 
stretching it. With man, consciousness breaks the chain. In man, 
and in man alone, it sets itself free. ‘The whole history of life until 
man has been that of the effort of consciousness to raise matter, and 
of the more or less complete overwhelming of consciousness by the 
matter which has fallen back on it. The enterprise was paradoxical, 
if, indeed, we may speak here otherwise than by metaphor of enter- 
prise and of effort. It was to create with matter, which is necessity 
itself, an instrument of freedom, to make a machine which should 
triumph over mechanism, and to use determinism of nature to pass 
through the meshes of the net which this very determinism had 
spread. But, everywhere except in man, consciousness has let 
itself be caught in the net whose meshes it tried to pass through: it 
has remained the captive of the mechanisms it has set up. Automa- 
tism, which it tries to draw in the direction of freedom, winds 
about it and drags it down. It has not the power to escape, because 
the energy it has provided for acts is almost all employed in maintain- 
ing the infinitely subtle and essentially unstable equilibrium into 
which it has brought matter. But man not only maintains his 
machine, he succeeds in using it as he pleases. Doubtless he owes this 
to the superiority of his brain, which enables him to build an unlimited 
number of motor mechanisms, to oppose new habits to the old ones 
unceasingly, and, by dividing automatism against itself, to rule it. 
He owes it to his language, which furnishes consciousness with an 
immaterial body in which to incarnate itself and thus exempts it 
from dwelling exclusively on material bodies, whose flux would soon 
drag it along and finally swallow it up. He owes it to social life, which 
stores and preserves efforts as language stores thought, fixes thereby a 
mean level to which individuals must raise themselves at the outset, and 
by this initial stimulation prevents the average man from slumbering 


992 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


and drives the superior man to mount still higher. But our brain, 
our society, and our language are only the external and ‘various 
signs of one and the same internal superiority. They tell, each 
after its manner, the unique, exceptional success which life has won 
at a given moment of its evolution. They express the difference of 
kind, and not only of degree, which separates man from the rest of 
the animal world. They let us guess that, while at the end of the 
vast springboard from which life has taken its leap, all the others 
have stepped down, finding the cord stretched too high, man alone 
has cleared the obstacle. 

It is in this quite special sense that man is the ‘“‘term” and the 
“end” of evolution. Life, we have said, transcends finality as it 
transcends the other categories. It is essentially a current sent 
through matter, drawing from it what it can. There has not, there- 
fore, properly speaking, been any project or plan. On the other hand, 
it is abundantly evident that the rest of nature is not for the sake of 
man: we struggle like the other species, we have struggled against 
other species. Moreover, if the evolution of life had encountered 
other accidents in its course, if, thereby, the current of life had been 
otherwise divided, we should have been, physically and morally, far 
different from what we are. For these various reasons it would be 
wrong to regard humanity, such as we have it before our eyes, as pre- 
figured in the evolutionary movement. It cannot even be said to 
be the outcome of the whole of evolution, for evolution hasbeen accom- 
plished on several divergent lines, and while the human species is at 
the end of one of them, other lines have been followed with other 
species at their end. It is in a quite different sense that we hold 
humanity to be the ground of evolution. 

From our point of view, life appears in its entirety as an immense 
wave which, starting from a centre, spreads outwards, and which on 
almost the whole of its circumference is stopped and converted into 
oscillation: at one single point the obstacle has been forced, the 
impulsion has passed freely. It is this freedom that the human form 
registers. Everywhere but in man, consciousness has had to come 
to a stand; in man alone it has kept on its way. Man, then, con- 
tinues the vital movement indefinitely, although he does not draw 
along with him all that life carries in itself. On other lines of evolu- 
tion there have traveled other tendencies which life implied, and of 


PROGRESS 993 


which, since everything interpenetrates, man has, doubtless, kept 
something, but of which he has kept only very little. I¢ is as tf a 
vague and formless being, whom we may call, as we will, man or super- 
man, had sought to realize himself, and had succeeded only by abandon- 
ing a part of himself on the way. ‘The losses are represented by the 
rest of the animal world, and even by the vegetable world, at least 
in what these have that is positive and above the accidents of 
evolution. 

From this point of view, the discordances of which nature offers 
us the spectacle are singularly weakened. The organized world as a 
whole becomes as the soil on which was to grow either man himself or 
a being who morally must resemble him. The animals, however dis- 
tant they may be from our species, however hostile to it, have none 
the less been useful traveling companions, on whom consciousness 
has unloaded whatever encumbrances it was dragging along, and 
who have enabled it to rise, in man, to heights from which it sees an 
unlimited horizon open again before it. 

Consciousness is distinct from the organism it animates, although 
it must undergo its vicissitudes. As the possible actions which a 
state of consciousness indicates are at every instant beginning to be 
carried out in the nervous centres, the brain underlies at every instant 
the motor indications of the state of consciousness; but the inter- 
dependency of consciousness and brain is limited to this; the destiny 
of consciousness is not bound up on that account with the destiny 
of cerebral matter. Finally, consciousness is essentially free; it is 
freedom itself; but it cannot pass through matter without settling on 
it, without adapting itself to it: this adaptation is what we call 
intellectuality; and the intellect, turning itself back towards active, 
that is to say, free, consciousness, naturally makes it enter into the 
conceptual forms into which it is accustomed to see matter fit. It 
will therefore always perceive freedom in the form of necessity; it will 
always neglect the part of novelty or of creation inherent in the free 
act; it will always substitute for action itself an imitation artificial, 
approximative, obtained by compounding the old with the old and the 
same with thesame. ‘Thus, to the eyes of.a philosophy that attempts 
to reabsorb intellect in intuition, many difficulties vanish or become 
light. But such a doctrine does not only facilitate speculation; it 
gives us also more power to act and to live. For, with it, we feel 


994 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


ourselves no longer isolated in humanity, humanity no longer seems 
isolated in the nature that it dominates. As the smallest grain 
of dust is bound up with our entire solar system, drawn along 
with it in that undivided movement of descent which is materiality 
itself, so all organized beings, from the humblest to the highest, 
from the first origins of life to the time in which we are, and in all 
places as in all times, do but evidence a single impulsion, the inverse 
of the movement of matter, and in itself indivisible. All the living 
hold together, and all yield to the same tremendous push. The 
animal takes its stand on the plant, man bestrides animality, and 
the whole of humanity, in space and in time, is one immense army 
galloping beside and before and behind each of us in an overwhelming 


charge able to beat down every resistance and clear the most formid- | 


able obstacles, perhaps even death. 


b. The “Dunkler Drang’? 


Every glance at the world, to explain which is the task of the 
philosopher, confirms and proves that will to live, far from being an 
arbitrary hypostasis or an empty word, is the only true expression of 
its inmost nature. Everything presses and strives towards existence, 
if possible organized existence, 1.e., life, and after that to the highest 
possible grade of it. In animal nature it then becomes apparent 
that will to live is the keynote of its being, its one unchangeable and 
unconditioned quality. Let anyone consider this universal desire 
for life, let him see the infinite willingness, facility, and exuberance 
with which the will to live presses impetuously into existence under a 
million forms everywhere and at every moment, by means of fructifica- 
tion and of germs, nay, when these are wanting, by means of generatio 
aequivoca, seizing every opportunity, eagerly grasping for itself every 
material capable of life: and then again let him cast a glance at its 
fearful alarm and wild rebellion when in any particular phenomenon 
it must pass out of existence; especially when this takes place with 
distinct consciousness. Then it is precisely the same as if in this single 
phenomenon the whole world would be annihilated forever, and the 
whole being of this threatened living thing is at once transformed 


*From Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, III, 107-18. 
(Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., 1909.) 





PROGRESS 995 


into the most desperate struggle against death and resistance to it. 
Look, for example, at the incredible anxiety of a man in danger of his 
life, the rapid and serious participation in this of every witness of it, 
and the boundless rejoicing at his deliverance. Look at the rigid terror 
with which a sentence of death is heard, the profound awe with which 
we regard the preparations for carrying it out, and the heartrending 
compassion which seizes us at the execution itself. We would then 
suppose there was something quite different in question than a few 
less years of an empty, sad existence, embittered by troubles of 
every kind, and always uncertain: we would rather be amazed that 
it was a matter of any consequence whether one attained a few years 
earlier to the place where after an ephemeral existence he has billions 
of years to be. In such phenomena, then, it becomes visible that I 
am right in declaring that the will to live is that which cannot be 
further explained, but lies at the foundation of all explanations, 
and that this, far from being an empty word, like the absolute, the 
infinite, the idea, and similar expressions, is the most real thing we 
know, nay, the kernel of reality itself. 

But if now, abstracting for a while from this interpretation 
drawn from our inner being, we place ourselves as strangers over 
against nature, in order to comprehend it objectively, we find that 
from the grade of organized life upwards it has only one intention— 
that of the maintenance of the species. To this end it works, through 
the immense superfluity of germs, through the urgent vehemence of 
the sexual instinct, through its willingness to adapt itself to all cir- 
cumstances and opportunities, even to the production of bastards, 
and through the instinctive maternal affection, the strength of which 
is so great that in many kinds of animals it even outweighs self-love, 
so that the mother sacrifices her life in order to preserve that of the 
young. The individual, on the contrary, has for nature only an 
indirect value, only so far as it is the means of maintaining the species. 
Apart from this, its existence is to nature a matter of indifference; 
indeed nature even leads it to destruction as soon as it has ceased to 
be useful for thisend. Why the individual exists would thus be clear; 
but why does the species itself exist? That is a question which 
nature when considered merely objectively cannot answer. For in 
vain do we seek by contemplating her for an end of this restless striv- 
ing, this ceaseless pressing into existence, this anxious care for the 


996 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


maintenance of the species. The strength and the time of the indi- 
viduals are consumed in the effort to procure sustenance for them- 
selves and their young, and are only just sufficient, sometimes even 
not sufficient, for this. The whole thing, when regarded thus purely 
objectively, and indeed as extraneous to us, looks as if nature was only 
concerned that of all her (Platonic) Jdeas, i.e., permanent forms, none 
should be lost. For the individuals are fleeting as the water in the 
brook; and Ideas, on the contrary, are permanent, like its eddies: 
but the exhaustion of the water would also do away with the eddies. 
We would have to stop at this unintelligible view if nature were known 
to us only from without, thus were given us merely objectively, and 
we accepted it as it is comprehended by knowledge, and also as 
sprung from knowledge, i.e., in the sphere of the idea, and were there- 
fore obliged to confine ourselves to this province in solving it. But 
the case is otherwise, and a glance at any rate is afforded us into the 
interior of nature; inasmuch as this is nothing else than our own inner 
being, which is precisely where nature, arrived at the highest grade 
to which its striving could work itself up, is now by the light of 
knowledge found directly in self-consciousness. Thus the subjective 
here gives the key for the exposition of the objective. In order to 
recognize, as something original and unconditioned, that exceedingly 
strong tendency of all animals and men to retain life and carry it on 
as long as possible—a tendency which was set forth above as char- 
acteristic of the subjective, or of the will—it is necessary to make clear 
to ourselves that this is by no means the result of any objective 
knowledge of the worth of life, but is independent of all knowledge; 
or, in other words, that those beings exhibit themselves, not as 
drawn from in front, but as impelled from behind. 

If with this intention we first of all review the interminable 
series of animals, consider the infinite variety of their forms, as they 
exhibit themselves always differently modified according to their 
element and manner of life, and also ponder the inimitable ingenuity 
of their structure and mechanism, which is carried out with equal 
perfection in every individual; and finally, if we take into considera- 
tion the incredible expenditure of strength, dexterity, prudence, and 
activity which every animal has ceaselessly to make through its whole 
life; if, approaching the matter more closely, we contemplate the 
untiring diligence of wretched little ants, the marvellous and ingenious 





PROGRESS 997 


industry of the bees, or observe how a single burying-beetle (Necro- 
phorus vespillo) buries a mole of forty times its own size in two days 
in order to deposit its eggs in it and insure nourishment for the future 
brood (Gleditsch, Physik. Bot. Oekon. Abkandl., III, 220), at the 
same time calling to mind how the life of most insects is nothing but 
ceaseless labour to prepare food and an abode for the future brood 
which will arise from their eggs, and which then, after they have 
consumed the food and passed through the chrysalis state, enter upon 
life merely to begin again from the beginning the same labour; then also 
how, like this, the life of the birds is for the most part taken up with | 
their distant and laborious migrations, then with the building of their 
nests and the collection of food for their brood, which itself has to 
play the same réle the following year; and so all work constantly for 
the future, which afterwards makes bankrupt—then we cannot 
avoid looking round for the reward of all this skill and trouble, for the 
end which these animals have before their eyes, which strive so 
ceaselessly—in short, we are driven to ask: What is the result? 
What is attained by the animal existence which demands such infinite 
preparation? And there is nothing to point to but the satisfaction 
of hunger and the sexual instinct, or in any case a little momentary 
comfort, as it falls to the lot of each animal individual, now and then 
in the intervals of its endless need and struggle. Take, for example, 
the mole, that unwearied worker. To dig with all its might with its 
enormous shovel claws is the occupation of its whole life; constant 
night surrounds it; its embryo eyes only make it avoid the light. 
It alone is truly an animal nocturnum; not cats, owls, and bats, who 
see by night. But what, now, does it attain by this life, full of 
trouble and devoid of pleasure? Food and the begetting of its kind; 
thus only the means of carrying on and beginning anew the.same 
doleful course in new individuals. . In such examples it becomes clear 
that there is no proportion between the cares and troubles of life 
and the results or gain of it. The consciousness of the world of 
perception gives a certain appearance of objective worth of existence 
to the life of those animals which can see, although in their case this 
consciousness is entirely subjective and limited to the influence of 
motives upon them. But the blind mole, with its perfect organiza- 
tion and ceaseless activity, limited to the alternation of insect larvae 
and hunger, makes the disproportion of the means to the end apparent. 


998 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Let us now add the consideration of the human race. The 
matter indeed becomes more complicated, and assumes a certain 
seriousness of aspect; but the fundamental character remains un- 
altered. Here also life presents itself by no means as a gift for 
enjoyment, but as a task, a drudgery to be performed; and in accord- 
ance with this we see, in great and small, universal need, ceaseless 
cares, constant pressure, endless strife, compulsory activity, with 
extreme exertion of all the powers of body and mind. Many millions, 
united into nations, strive for the common good, each individual on 
account of his own; but many thousands fall as a sacrifice for it. 
Now senseless delusions, now intriguing politics, incite them to wars 
with each other; then the sweat and the blood of the great multitude 
must flow, to carry out the ideas of individuals, or to expiate 
their faults. In peace industry and trade are active, inventions 
work miracles, seas are navigated, delicacies are collected from all 
ends of the world, the waves engulf thousands. All strive, some | 
planning, others acting; the tumult is indescribable. But the ulti- 
mate aim of it all, what isit? To sustain ephemeral and tormented 
individua's through a short span of time in the most fortunate ease 
with endurable want and comparative freedom from pain, which, 
however, is at once attended with ennui; then the reproduction of this 
race and its striving. In this evident disproportion between the 
trouble and the reward, the will to live appears to us from this point 
of view, if taken objectively, as a fool, or subjectively, as a delusion, 
seized by which everything living works with the utmost exertion of 
its strength for something that is of no value. But when we consider 
it more closely, we shall find here also that it is rather a blind pressure, 
a tendency entirely without ground or motive. 

The law of motivation only extends to the particular actions, not 
to willing as a whole and in general. It depends upon this, that if we 
conceive of the human race and its action as a whole and universally, 
it does not present itself to us, as when we contemplate the particular 
actions, as a play of puppets who are pulled after the ordinary manner 
ty threads outside them; but from this point of view, as puppets that 
are set in motion by internal clockwork. For if, as we have done 
above, one compares the ceaseless, serious, and laborious striving 
of men with what they gain by it, nay, even with what they ever 
can gain, the disproportion we have pointed out becomes apparent, 





PROGRESS 999 


for one recognizes that that which is to be gained, taken as the motive 
power, is entirely insufficient for the explanation of that movement and 
that ceaseless striving. What, then, is a short postponement of 
death, a slight easing of misery or deferment of pain, a momentary 
stilling of desire, compared with such an abundant and certain 
victory over them all as death? What could such advantages ac- 
complish taken as actual moving causes of a human race, innumer- 
able because. constantly renewed, which unceasingly moves, strives, 
struggles, grieves, writhes, and performs the whole tragi-comedy of 
the history of the world, nay, what says more than all, perseveres in 
such a mock-existence as long as each one possibly can? Clearly 
this is all inexplicable if we seek the moving causes outside the figures 
and conceive the human race as striving, in consequence of rational 
reflection, or something analogous to this (as moving threads), 
after those good things held out to it, the attainment of which would 
be a sufficient reward for its ceaseless cares and troubles. The 
matter being taken thus, everyone would rather have long ago said, 
“Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle,” and have gone out. But, on the 
contrary, everyone guards and defends his life, like a precious pledge 
entrusted to him under heavy responsibility, under infinite cares and 
abundant misery, even under which life is tolerable. The wherefore 
and the why, the reward for this, certainly he does not see; but he 
has accepted the worth of that pledge without seeing it, upon trust 
and faith, and does not know what it consists in. Hence I have 
said that these puppets are not pulled from without, but each bears 
in itself the clockwork from which its movements result. This is 
the will to live, manifesting itself as an untiring machine, an irrational 
tendency, which has not its sufficient reason in the external world. It 
holds the individuals firmly upon the scene, and is the primum 
mobile of their movements; while the external objects, the motives, 
only determine their direction in the particular case; otherwise the 
cause would not be at all suitable to the effect. For, as every manifes- 
tation of a force of nature has a cause, but the force of nature itself 
none, so every particular act of will has a motive, but the will in 
general has nohe: indeed at bottom these two are one and the same. 
The will, as that which is metaphysical, is everywhere the boundary- 
stone of every investigation, beyond which it cannot go. We often 
see a miserable figure, deformed and shrunk with age, want, and 


1000 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


disease, implore our help from the bottom of his heart for the prolonga- 
tion of an existence, the end of which would necessarily appear alto- 
gether desirable if it were an objective judgment that determined 
here. Thus instead of this it is the blind will, appearing as the 
tendency to life, the love of life, and the sense of life; it is the same 
which makes the plants grow. ‘This sense of life may be compared to 
a rope which is stretched above the puppet show of the world of men, 
and on which the puppets hang by invisible threads, while apparently 
they are supported only by the ground beneath them (the objective 
value of life). But if the rope becomes weak the puppet sinks; if it 
breaks the puppet must fall, for the ground beneath it only seemed 
to support it: ie., the weakening of that love of life shows itself 
as hypochondria, spleen, melancholy: its entire exhaustion as the 
inclination to suicide. And as with the persistence in life, so is it also 
with its action and movement. ‘This is not something freely chosen; 
but while everyone would really gladly rest, want and ennui are the 
whips that keep the top spinning. ‘Therefore everything is in con- 
tinual strain and forced movement, and the course of the world goes 
on, to use an expression of Aristotle’s (De coelo ii. 13), “od dice, 
ada Bia’ (motu, non naturali sed violento). Men are only apparently 
drawn from in front; really they are pushed from behind; it is not 
life that tempts them on, but necessity that drives them forward. 
The law of motivation is, like all causality, merely the form of the 
phenomenon. 

In all these considerations, then, it becomes clear to us that the 
will to live is not a consequence of the knowledge of life, is in no 
way a conclusio ex praemissis, and in general is nothing secondary. 
Rather, it is that which is first and unconditioned, the premiss of all 
premisses, and just on that account that from which philosophy must 
start, for the will to live does not appear in consequence of the world, 
but the world in consequence of the will to live. 


Ill. INVESTIGATIONS AND PROBLEMS 
1. Progress and Social Research 


The problem of progress comes back finally to the problem of 
the ultimate good. If the world is getting better, measured by this 
ultimate standard, then there is progress. If it is growing worse, 





PROGRESS IOOI 


then there is retrogression. But in regard to the ultimate good 
there is no agreement. What is temporary gain may be ulti- 
mate loss. What is one man’s evil may be, and often seems to be, 
another man’s good. In the final analysis what seems evil may turn 
out to be good and what seems good may be an eventual evil. But 
this is a problem in philosophy which sociology is not bound to solve 
before it undertakes to describe society. It does not even need to 
discuss it. Sociology, just as any other natural science, accepts 
the current values of the community. The physician, like the 
social worker, assumes that health is a social value. With this as a 
datum his studies are directed to the discovery of the nature and 
causes of diseases, and to the invention of devices for curing them. 
There is just as much, and no more, reason for a sociologist to 
formulate a doctrine of social progress as there is for the physician 
to do so. Both are concerned with specific problems for which they 
are seeking specific remedies. 

If there are social processes and predictable forms of change in 
society, then there are methods of human intervention in the processes 
of society, methods of controlling these processes in the interest of 
the ends of human life, methods of progress in other words. If there 
are no intelligible or describable social processes, then there may be 
progress, but there will be no sociology and no methods of progress. 
We can only hope and pray. 

It is not impossible to formulate a definition of progress which 
does not assume the perfectibility of mankind, which does not regard 
progress as a necessity, and which does not assume to say with 
finality what has happened or is likely to happen to humanity as a 
whole.* 

Progress may be considered as the addition to the sum of accumu- 
lated experience, tradition, and technical devices organized for social 

t Scientific optimism was no doubt rampant before Darwin. For example, 
Herschel says: ‘‘Man’s progress towards a higher state need never fear a check, 
but must continue till the very last existence of history.” But Herbert Spencer 
asserts the perfectibility of man with an assurance which makes us gasp. ‘“Pro- 
gress is not an accident, but a necessity. What we call evil and immorality must 
disappear. It is certain that man must become perfect.” ‘The ultimate develop- 
ment of the ideal man is certain—as certain as any conclusion in which we place 
the most implicit faith; for instance, that all men will die.” ‘Always towards 


perfection is the mighty movement—towards a complete development and a more 
unmixed good.”—W. R. Inge, The Idea of Progress, p.9. (Oxford, 1920.) 


1002 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


efficiency. This is at once a definition of progress and of civiliza- — 
tion, in which civilization is the sum of social efficiencies and progress — 


consists of the units (additions) of which it is composed. Defined 
in these terms, progress turns out to be a relative, local, temporal, 
and secular phenomenon. It is possible, theoretically at least, to 
compare one community with another with respect to their relative 
efficiency and their relative progress in efficiency, just as we can 
compare one institution with another in respect to its efficiency and 
progress. It is even possible to measure the progress of humanity 
in so far as humanity can be said to be organized for social action. 

This is in fact the point of view which sociologists have adopted 
as soon as progress ceased to be, for sociology, a matter of definition 
and became a matter of observation and research. Score cards for 
neighborhoods and for rural communities have already been devised. 


2. Indices of Progress 

A few years ago, Walter F. Willcox, in an article “A Statistician’s 
Idea of Progress,” sought to define certain indices of social progress 
which would make it possible to measure progress statistically. “If 
progress be merely a subjective term,’’ he admitted, “statistics can 
throw no light upon it because all such ends as happiness, or self- 
realization, or social service are incapable of statistical measurement.”’ 
Statistics works with indices, characteristics which are accessible 
to measurement but are ‘‘correlated with some deeper immeasurable 
characteristic.”” Mr. Willcox took as his indices of progress: 

1. Increase in population. 
. Length of life. 
. Uniformity in population. 
. Racial homogeneity. 
. Literacy. 
. Decrease of the divorce rate. 

Certainly these indices, like uniformity, are mere temporary 
measures of progress, since diversity in the population is not per se 
an evil. It becomes so only when the diversities in the community 


Am B&W ND 


™ “Scale for Grading Neighborhood Conditions,” Publications of the Whittier 
State School, Research Bulletin, No. 5, Whittier, Cal., May, 1917. ‘Guide to the 
Grading of Neighborhoods,” Publications of the Whittier State School, Research 
Bulletin, No. 8, Whittier, Cal., April, 1918. Nat T. Frame, “The Country Com- 
munity Score Card,” West Virginia University Agricultural Extension Circular 240, 
Morgantown, W.Va., 1919. 





PROGRESS 1003 


are so great as to endanger its solidarity. Applying his indices to 
the United States, Mr. Willcox sums up the result as follows: 

The net result is to indicate for the United States a rapid increase of 
population and probable increase in length of life, and increase in racial 
uniformity and perhaps in uniformity of other sorts connected with immigra- 
tion, and at the same time a decrease in uniformity in the stability and 
social serviceability of family life. Some of these indications look towards 
progress, others look towards retrogression. As they cannot be reduced 
to any common denominator, the statistical method is unable to answer 
the question with which we started.! 


The securing of indices which will measure satisfactorily even 
such social values as are generally accepted is difficult. The problem 
of giving each index in the series a value or weight in proportion to 
the value of all the others is still more difficult. This statement, 
at any rate, illustrates the procedure and the method. 

The whole subject of numerical indices for the measurement of 
civilization and progress has recently been discussed in a little volume 
by Alfredo Niceforo,? professor in the School of Criminal Law at 
Rome. He proposes as indices of progress: 

1. The increase in wealth and in the consumption of goods, and 
the diminution of the mortality rate. These are evidences of mate- 
rial progress. 

2. The diffusion of culture, and “when it becomes possible to 
measure it,” the productivity of men of genius. This is the measure 
of intellectual superiority. 

3. Moral progress he would measure in terms of crime. 

4. There remains the social and political organization, which he 
would measure in terms of the increase and decrease of individual 
liberty. 

In all these attempts to measure the progress of the community 
the indices have invariably shown progression in some direction, 
retrogression in others. 

From the point of view of social research the problem of progress 
is mainly one of getting devices that will measure all the different 
factors of progress and of estimating the relative value of different 
factors in the progress of the community. 

™“ A Statistician’s Idea of Progress,” International Journal of Ethics, XVIII 
(1913), 296. : 

2 Les indices numériques de la civilisation et du progres. (Paris, 1921.) 


1004 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


I. THE DEFINITION OF PROGRESS 


(rt) Dewey, John. ‘Progress,’ International Journal of Ethics, XXVI 
(TOIG); atts 

(2) Bury, J. B. The Idea of Progress. An inquiry into its origin and 
growth. London, to21. 

(3) Bryce, James. “What is Progress?” Atlantic Monthly, C (1907), 
145-56. 

(4) Todd, A. J. Theories of Social Progress. A critical attempt to 
formulate the conditions of human advance. New York, 1918. 

(s) Woods, E. B. ‘Progress as a Sociological Concept,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XII (1906-7), 779-821. 

(6) Cooley, Charles H. The Social Process. Chap. xxvii, ‘“‘The Sphere 
of Pecuniary Valuation,” pp. 309-28. New York, 1918. 

(7) Mackenzie, J. S. “The Idea of Progress,” International Journal of 
Ethics, TX (1899), 195-213. 

(8) Bergson, H. Creative Evolution. New York, to1t. 

(9) Frobenius, L. Die Weltanschauung der Naturvilker. Weimar, 1899. 

(10) Inge, W. R. The Idea of Progress. The Romanes Lecture, 1920. 
Oxford, 1920. 

(11) Balfour, Arthur J. Arthur James Balfour, as Philosopher and Thinker. 
A collection of the more important and interesting passages in his 
non-political writings, speeches, and addresses, 1879-1912. Selected 
and arranged by Wilfrid M. Short. ‘‘ Progress,” pp. 413-35. London 
and New York, 1912. ; 

(12) Carpenter, Edward. Cvivilization, Its Cause and Cure. And other 
essays. New and enlarged ed. London and New York, 1017. 

(13) Nordau, Max S. The Interpretation of History. Translated from 
the German by M. A. Hamilton. Chap. viii, “The Question of 
Progress.” New York, tort. 

(14) Sorel, Georges. Les Illusions du progrés. 2ded. Paris, rortr. 

(15) Allier, R. ‘‘Pessimisme et civilisation,” Revue Encyclopédique, V 
(1895), 70-73. 

(16) Simmel, Georg. ‘Moral Deficiencies as Determining Intellectual 
Functions,” International Journal of Ethics, III (1893), 490-507. 

(17) Delvaile, Jules. Essai sur histoire de Vidée de progrés jusqu’a la fin du 
181éme siécle. Paris, 1910. 

(18) Sergi, G. ‘‘Qualche idea sul progresso umano,” Rivista italiana di 
sociologia, XVII (1893), 1-8. 

(19) Barth, Paul. ‘Die Frage des sittlichen Fortschritts der Menschheit,” 
Vierteljahrsschrift fiir wissenschaftliche Philosophie, XXIII (1899), 
75-116. 

(20) Lankester, E. Ray. Degeneration. A chapter in Darwinism, and 
parthenogenesis. Humboldt Library of Science. New York, 18—. 

(21) Lloyd, A.H. ‘The Case of Purpose against Fate in History,” Ameri- 
can Journal of Sociology, XVII (1911-12), 491-STII. 





PROGRESS 1005 


(22) Case, Clarence M. “Religion and the Concept of Progress,” Journal 
of Religion, I (1921), 160-73. 

(23) Reclus, E. ‘‘The Progress of Mankind,” Contemporary Review, LXX 
(1896), 761-83. 

(24) Bushee, F. A. “Science and Social Progress, 
Monthly, LX XIX (1911), 236-51. 

(25) Shafer, Robert. Progress and Science. Essays in criticism. New 
Haven, 1922. 

(26) Jankelevitch, S. ‘‘Du Réle des idées dans |’évolution des sociétés,”’ 
Revue philosophique, LXVI (1908), 256-80. 

(27) Small, Albion W. “The Category ‘Progress’ as a Tool of Research in 
Social Science,’’ American Journal of Sociology, XXVIII (1922-23), 
554-70. 


” Popular Science 


II. HISTORY, THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY AND PROGRESS 


(1) Condorcet, Marquis de. History of the Progress of the Human Mind. 
London, 1795. 

(2) Comte, Auguste. The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte. (Trans- 
lated from the French by Harriet Martineau) Book VI, chap. ii, vi. 
2ded. 2 vols. London, 1875-90. 

(3) Caird, Edward. The Social Philosophy and Religion of Comte. 2d ed. 
Glasgow and New York, 1893. 

(4) Buckle, Henry Thomas. History of Civilization in England. 2 vols. 
From 2d London ed. New York, 1903. 

(5) Condorcet, Marie J. A.C. Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrés 
de Vesprit humain. 2 vols. in one. Paris, 1902. 

(6) Harris, George. Civilization Considered as a Science. In relation to 
its essence, its elements, and its end. London, 1861. 

(7) Lamprecht, Karl. Alte und neue Richtungen in der Geschichtswissen- 
schaft. Berlin, 1806. 

“Tndividualitat, Idee und sozialpsychische Kraft in der 
Geschichte,” Jahrbiicher fiir National-Okonomie und Statistik, XII 
(1897), 880-900. 

(9) Barth, Paul. Philosophie der Geschichte als Sociologie. Erster Teil, 
‘‘Binleitung und kritische Ubersicht.”’ Leipzig, 1897. 

(ro) Rickert, Heinrich. Die Grenzen der naturwissenschaftlichen Begriffs- 
bildung. Leipzig, 1902. 

(11) Simmel, Georg. Die Probleme der Geschichtsphilosophie. Eine 
erkenntnistheoretische Studie. 2ded. Leipzig, 1905. 

(12) Mill, John Stuart. A System of Logic, Ratiocinative and Inductive. 
Being a connected view of the principles of evidence and the methods 
of scientific investigation. 8th ed. New York and London, rgoo. 

(13) Letelier, Valentin. La Evolugion de la historia. 2d ed. 2 vols. 
Santiago de Chile, 1900. ; 

(14) Teggart, Frederick J. The Processes of History. New Haven, 
1918. 

(15) Znaniecki, Florian. Cultural Reality. Chicago, roto. 





(8) 


1006 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(16) Hibben, J. G. “The Philosophical Aspects of Evolution,” Philo- 
sophical Review, XIX (1910), 113-36. 

(17) Bagehot, Walter. Physics and Politics. Or thoughts on the applica- 
tion of the principles of ‘‘natural selection” and “inheritance” to 
political society. Chap. vi, ‘“‘Verifiable Progress Politically Con- 
sidered,” pp. 205-24. New York, 1906. 

(18) Crawley, A. E. “‘The Unconscious Reason in Social Evolution,” 
Sociological Review, VI (1913), 236-41. 

(19) Froude, James A. ‘Essay on Progress,” Short Studies on Great 
Subjects. 2d Ser. II, 245-79, 4 vols. New York, 1888-or1. 

(20) Morley, John. ‘“‘Some Thoughts on Progress,” Educational Review, 
XXIX (1905), 1-17. ; 

(21) Ogburn, William F. Social Change. With respect to culture and 
original nature. New York, 1922. 


II. EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 


(1) Spencer, Herbert. “Progress, Its Law and Cause,” Westminster 
Review, LXVII (1857), 445-85. [Reprinted in Everyman’s edition of 
his Essays, pp. 153-97. New York, 1866.] 

(2) Federici, Romolo. Les Lots du Progrés. Il, 32-35, 44, 127, 136, 
146-47, 158 ff., 223, etc. 2 vols. Paris, 1888-91. 

(3) Baldwin, James Mark. Development and _ Evolution. Including 
psychophysical evolution, evolution by orthoplasy, and the theory of 
genetic modes. New York, 1902. 

(4) Adams, Brooks. The Law of Civilization and Decay. An essay on 
history. New York and London, 1903. 

(5) Kidd, Benjamin. Principles of Western Civilization. London, 1902. 

(6) Social Evolution. New ed. New York and London, 1896. 

(7) Miiller-Lyer, F. The History of Social Development. Translated from 
the German by Elizabeth C. and H. A. Lake London, 1920. 

(8) McGee, W J. ‘‘The Trend of Human Progress,” American Anthro- 
pologist, N.S., I (1899), 401-47. 

(9) Carver, Thomas N. Sociology and Social Progress. A handbook for 
students of sociology. Boston, 1905. | 

(10) Weber, L. Le Rythme du progres. Etude sociologique. Paris, 1913. 

(11) Baldwin, J. Mark. Social and Ethical Interpretations in + Mental 
Development. Chap. xiv, ‘‘Social Progress,” pp. 537-50. New York, 
1906. 

(12) Bernard, L. L. “The Conditions of Social Progress,” American 
Journal of Sociology, XXVIII (1922-23), 21-48. 

(13) . “Invention and Social Progress,” American Journal of 
Sociology, XXIX (July, 1923), 1-33. 

(14) Wallace, Alfred R. Social Environment and Moral Progress. London 
and New York, 1913. 

(15) Freeman, R. Austin. Social Decay and Regeneration. With an 
introduction by Havelock Ellis. Boston, rg2r. 

(16) Hobhouse, L. T. Social Development. New York, 1924. 








PROGRESS 1007 


IV. EUGENICS AND PROGRESS 


(1) Galton, Francis, and others. “Eugenics, Its Scope and Aims,” 
American Journal of Sociology, X (1904-5), 1-25. 
(2) Saleeby, Caleb W. Zhe Progress of Eugenics. London, 1914. 
(3) Fllis, Havelock. The Problem of Race Regeneration. New York, tort. 
(4) Pearson, Karl. National Life from the Standpoint of Science. 2d ed. 
London, 1905. 
(s) Saleeby, Caleb W. Methods of Race Regeneration. New York, 1g1t. 
(6) Davenport, C.B. Heredity in Relation to Eugenics. New York, tort. 
(7) Demoor, Jean, Massart, J., et Vandervelde, E. L’ Evolution régressive 
en biologie et en sociologie. Paris, 1897. 
(8) Thomson, J. Arthur. ‘‘Eugenics and War,” Eugenics Review, VII 
(1915-16), I-14. ; 
_(g) Southard, E. E. ‘Eugenics vs. Cacogenics,” Journal of Heredity, 
V (1914), 408-14. 
(ro) Conn, Herbert W. Social Heredity and Social Evolution. The other 
side of eugenics. Cincinnati, 1914. 
(11) Popenoe, Paul, and Johnson, R. H. Applied Eugenics. New York, 
1918. 
(12) Kelsey, Carl. “Influence of Heredity and Environment upon Race 
Improvement,” Annals of American Academy, XXXIV (1909), 3-8. 
(13) Ward, L. F. ‘‘Eugenics, Euthenics and Eudemics,” American Journal 
of Sociology, XVIII (1912-13), 737-54. 
(14) Holmes, S. J. The Trend of the Race. A study of present tendencies 
in the biological development of civilized mankind. New York, rg21. 


V. PROGRESS AND THE MORAL ORDER 


(x) Harrison, Frederic. Order and Progress. London, 1875. 

(2) Hobhouse, Leonard T. Social Evolution and Political Theory. Chaps. 
i, li, vli, pp. 1-39; 149-65. New York, torr. 

(3) Morals in Evolution. A study incomparative ethics. 2 vols. 
New York, 1906. . 

(4) Alexander, Samuel. Moral Order and Progress. An analysis of 
ethical conceptions. 2ded. London, 18or. 

(5) Chapin, F.S. “Moral Progress,” Popular Science Monthly, LXXXVI 
(1915), 467-71. 

(6) Keller, Albert G. Societal Evolution. New York, tots. 

(7) Dellepiane, A. ‘‘Le Progrés et sa formule. La lutte pour le progrés,”’ 
Revue internationale de sociologie, XX (1912), 1-30. 

(8) Burgess, Ernest W. The Function of Socialization in Social Evolution. 
Chicago, 1916. 

(9) Ellwood, C: A. “The Educational Theory of Social Progress,” 
Scientific Monthly, V (1917), 439-50. 

(10) Bosanquet, Helen. ‘‘The Psychology of Social Progress,” Jnter- 

national Journal of Ethics, VII (1896-97), 265-81. 


(11) Perry, Ralph Barton. The Moral Economy. Chap. iv, “‘The Moral 
Test of Progress,’ pp. 123-70. New York, 1go9. 





1008 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


(12) Patten, S. N. “Theories of Progress,” American Economic Review, 
II (1912), 61-68. . 

(13) Alexander, H. B. ‘‘The Belief in God and Immortality as Factors in 
Race Progress,” Hibbert Journal, IX (1910-11), 169-87. 


VI. UTOPIAS 


(1) Plato. The Republic of Plato. Translated into English by Benjamin 
Jowett. 2 vols. Oxford, 1908. 

(2) More, Thomas. The “Utopia” of Sir Thomas More. Ralph Robin- 
son’s translation, with Roper’s ‘‘Life of More” and some of his letters. 
London, 1g10. 

(3) Ideal Commonwealths.. Comprising More’s “ Utopia,” Bacon’s “New 
Atlantis,”> Campanella’s “City of the Sun,” and Harrington’s 
“Oceana,” with introductions by Henry Morley. Rev. ed. New 
York, toot. 

(4) Kaufmann, Moritz. Utopias, or Schemes of Social Improvement. 
From Sir Thomas More to Karl Marx. London, 1879. 

(5) Bacon, Francis. New Atlantis. Oxford, 1915. 

(6) Campanella, Tommaso. La cittd di sole e aforasmi politici. Lanciana, 
Carabba, 10, 

(7) Andreé, Johann V. Christianopolis. An ideal state of the seventeenth 
century. Translated from the Latin by F. E. Held. New York, 1916. 

(8) Harrington, James. The Oceana of James Harrington. London, 1700. 

(9) Mandeville, Bernard de. Fable of the Bees. Or private vices, public 
benefits. Edinburgh, 1772. [First published in 1714.] 

(10) Cabet, Etienne. Voyage en Icarie. sth ed. Paris, 1848. 

(11) Butler, Samuel. Evrewhon: or over the Range. New York, 1917. 
[First published in 1872.] 

(12) Erewhon Revisited Twenty Years Later. New York, 1go1. 

(13) Lytton, Edward Bulwer. The Coming Race. London, 1871. 

(14) Bellamy, Edward. Looking Backward, 2000-1887. Boston, 1808. 

(15) Morris, William. News from Nowhere. Or an epoch of rest, being 
some chapters from a utopian romance. New York, 1o1o. [First 
published in 18o91.] 

(16) Hertzka, Theodor. Freeland. A social anticipation. New York, 
1801. 

(17) Wells, H. G. A Modern Utopia. New York, 1905. 

(18) New Worlds for Old. New York, 1908. 

(19) Mumford, Lewis. The Story of Utopias. New York, 1922. 

(20) Hertzler, JoyceO. The History of Utopian Thought. New York, 1923: 








VII. PROGRESS AND SOCIAL WELFARE 
(1) Crozier, John B. Civilization and Progress. 3d ed., pp. 366-440. 
London and New York, 1892. 
(2) Obolensky, L. E. [‘‘Self-Consciousness of Classes in Social Progress”’] 
Voprosy filosofit i psichologuiit, VII (1896), 521-51. [Short review in 
Revue philosophique, XLIV (1897), 106.] 


\ 


PROGRESS 100g 


(3) Mallock, William H. Aristocracy and Evolution. A study of the 
rights, the origin, and the social functions of the wealthier classes. 
London, 1808. 

(4) Tenney, E. P. Contrasts:in Social Progress. New York, 1907. 

(5) Hall, Arthur C. Crime in Its Relations to Social Progress. New York, 
1902. 

(6) Hughes, Charles E. Conditicns of Progress in a Democratic Govern- 
ment. New Haven, I1ogto. 

(7) Parmelee, Maurice. Poverty and Social Progress. Chaps. vi-vii. 
New York, 1916. 

(8) George, Henry. Progress and Poverty. Book X, chap. iii. New 
York, 1899. 

(9) Nasmyth, George. Social Progress and the Darwinian Theory. New 
York, 1916. 

(10) Harris, George. Inequality and Progress. New York, 1897. 

(11) Irving, L. “The Drama as a Factor in Social Progress,” Fortnightly 
Review, CII (1914), 268-74. 

(12) Salt, Henry S. Animal Rights Considered in Relation to Social Progress. 
New York, 1894. 

(13) Delabarre, Frank A. ‘Civilisation and Its Effects on Morbidity 
and Mortality,” Journal of Sociologic Medicine, XIX (1918), 220-23. 

(14) Knopf,S.A. ‘The Effects of Civilisation on the Morbidity and Mor- 
tality of Tuberculosis,” Journal of Sociologic Medicine, XX (1919), 5-15. 

(15) Giddings, Franklin H. “The Ethics of Social Progress,” in the 
collection Philanthropy and Social Progress. Seven essays .... 
delivered before the School of Applied Ethics at Plymouth, Mass., 
during the session of 1892. With introduction by Professor Henry 
C. Adams. New York and Boston, 1893. 

(16) Morgan, Alexander. Education and Social Progress. Chaps. vi, 
ix-xxi. London and New York, 1016. 

(17) Butterfield, K. L. Chapters in Rural Progress. Chicago, 1908. 

(18) Robertson, John M. The Economics of Progress. New York, 1018. 

(19) Willcox, Walter F. ‘A Statistician’s Idea of Progress,” International 
Journal of Ethics, XXIII (1913), 275-08. 

(20) Zueblin, Charles. American Municipal Progress. Rev. ed. New 
York, 1916. 

(21) Niceforo, Alfredo. Les Indices numériques de la civilisation et du 
progres. Paris, 1921. 

(22) Todd, A. J. Theories of Social Progress. Chap. vii, “The Criteria 
of Progress,” pp. 113-53. New York, 1018. 


TOPICS FOR WRITTEN THEMES 


1. The History of the Concept of Progress 

2. Popular Notions of Progress 

3. The Natural History of Progress: Evolution of Physical and Mental 
Traits, Economic Progress, Moral Development, Intellectual Develop- 
ment, Social Evolution 


IOIO INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


. Stages of Progress: Determined by Type of Control over Nature, 


Type of Social Organization, Type of Communication, etc. 


. Score Cards and Scales for Grading Communities and Neighborhoods 
. Progress as Wish-Fulfilment: an Analysis of Utopias 
. Criteria or Indices of Progress: Physical, Mental, Intellectual, Eco- 


nomic, Moral, Social, etc. 


. Progress as an Incident of the Cosmic Process 


9. Providence versus Progress 


10. 
II. 
12, 
£3: 
14. 
LS: 
16. 


&® D HH 


on 


om 
I2. 


i3y 


14. 


15. 
16. 


Happiness as the Goal of Progress 

Progress as Social Change 

Progress as Social Evolution 

Progress as Social Control 

Progress and the Science of Eugenics _ 

Progress and Socialization 

Control through Eugenics, Education, and Legislation 


QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION 


. What do you understand by progress ? 

. How do you explain the fact that the notion of progress originated ? 

. What is the relation of change to progress ? 

. What is Spencer’s law of evolution? Is it an adequate generalization ? 


What is its value? 


. Why do we speak of “stages of progress’? ? 
. To what extent has progress been a result (a) of eugenics, (b) of tradi- 


tion ? 


. What do you understand by progress as (a) a historical process, and 


(b) increase in the content of civilization ? 


. What is the relation of progress to happiness ? 


. “We have confused rapidity of change with progress.” Explain. 
IO. 


“Progress is not automatic.” Elaborate your position with reference 
to this statement. 

What is the relation of prevision to progress ? 

Do you believe that mankind can control and determine progress ? 
“Our expectations of limitless progress cannot depend upon the de- 
liberate action of national governments.” Contrast this statement 
of Balfour with the statement of Dewey. 

“A community founded on argument would dissolve into its con- 
stituent elements.”’ Discuss this statement. 

What is Galton’s conception of progress ? 

What would you say to the possibility or the impossibility of the 
suggestion of eugenics becoming a religious dogma as suggested by 
Galton 





17. 


18. 
IQ. 
20. 
are 


2g: 
23. 
24. 
a5. 


PROGRESS IOII 


What is the relation, as conceived by the eugenists, as between germ 
plasm and culture ? 

Is progress dependent upon change in human nature ? 

How are certain persistent traits of human nature related to progress ? 
What is meant by the statement that progress is in the mores? 

What are the different types of progress analyzed by Bryce? Has 
advance in each of them been uniform im the last one thousand years ? 
Does war make for or against progress P 

What is the relation of freedom to progress ? 

What place has the myth in progress ? 

To what extent is progress as a process of realizing values a matter of 
temperament, of optimism, and of pessimism ? 









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INDEX OF NAMES 


[Page numbers in italics refer to selections or short extracts] 


Abbott, Edith, 222, 570, 780 
Abbott, Grace, 779 
Abraham, Karl, 857 
Abrahams, I., 942 
Achelis, T., 937 
Adams, Brewster, 646, 657 
Adams, Brooks, 949, 1006 
Adams, Charles C., 218, 555 
Adams, Charles F., 760 
Adams, Franklin P., 834 
Adams, Henry, 5, 14, 15, 565 
Addams, Jane, 320, 331, 335 
Addison, Joseph, 66 
Adler, Alfred, 147, 153, 407, 
500, 641, 648, 649 
Adler, H. M., 936 
Alexander, H. B., 1008 
Alexander, Samuel, 1007 
Alexander the Great, 987 


Alfred [pseud.], see 
Samuel 


Allier, R., 1004 

Ambrosio, M. A. d’, 567 

Ames, Edward S., 426 

Amiel, H., 154 

Ammon, Dr. O., 534 

Amsden, G. S., 155 

Anderson, Nels, 731 

Anderson, Wilbert L., 334 

Andrea, Johann V., 1008 

Andrews, Alexander, 859 

Andrews, John B., 942 

Anthony, Alfred W., 944 

Anthony, Katharine S., 154, 941 

Anthony, Susan B., 940 

Antin, Mary, 774, 782 

Antony, Marc, 386 

Arc, Jeanne d’, 410 

Archer, T. A., 941 

Aria, E., 947 

Aristotle, 11, 29, 30, 32, 61, 143, 
147, 158, 223, 226, 231, 2061, 
371, 373, 600, 640, 1000 

Aronovici, Carol, 218, 781 

Atkinson, Charles M., 948 

Aubry, P., 937, 938 

Audoux, Marguerite, 154 

Auerbach, Bertrand, 274, 660, 
778, 945 


Kydd, 


Augustinus, Aurelius (Saint 
Augustine), 125-26, 147, 154 


Aurousseau, M., 218 
Austin, George L., 948 
Austin, John, 109 
Austin, Mary, 881-83 


Bab, Julius, 731 

Babbitt, Eugene H., 275, 754-56 

Babinsky, J. F., 650 

Bachofen, J. J., 214, 210 

Bacon, Lord Francis, 66, 233- 
34, 277, 1008 

Baden-Powell, H., 219 

Baer, Karl Ernst von, 518, 967 

Bagehot, Walter, 423, 430, 495- 
96, 564, 565, 649, 1006 

Bailey, Thomas P., 654, 728 

Bailey, W. F., 778 

Bailie, William, 560 

Baillie, J. B., 151 

Bain, A., 371 

Bakeless, John, 651 

Baker, Ray Stannard, 646, 654, 
658, 936 

Balch, Emily G., 780 

Baldwin, J. Mark, 41, 88, 152, 
153, 300, 423, 426, 430, 431, 
649, 663-64, 719, 725, 727, 
775, 1000 

Balfour, Arthur James, 
977-79, 1004 

Ballagh, James C., 857 

Balzac, H. de, 145, 420 

Bancroft, H. H., 941 

Bang, J. P., 652 


Barbellion, W. N. P. [pseud.], 
see Cummings, B. F. 


Barclay, Robert, 944 
Baring-Gould, S., 273 
Barnes, Harry E., 660 
Barr, Martin W., 936 
Barrére, Albert, 428 
Barrow, Sir John, 274 
Barrows, Samuel J., 780 


Barth, Paul, 3, 4, 217, 1004, 
1005 


Bartlett, D. W., 948 

Bastian, A., 673, 787 

Bastiat, Frédéric, 504-5, 552- 
53, 565, 573 


964, 


1013 


Bates, Jean V., 778 

Bauer, Arthur, 728, 940 

Bauer, Otto, 777 

Bauer, Wilhelm, 858 

Bax, Ernest B., 943 

Beard, Charles A., 498, 659 

Beaulieu, P. Leroy-, sce Leroy- 
Beaulieu, P. 

Bechterew, W. v, 126-28, 153, 
160. 345, 408-12, 415-20, 424 
431, 434, 494, 500 

Beck von Mannagetta, G., 181 

Beddoe, Dr. John, 535 

Beecher, Franklin A., 940 

Beer, M., 567 

Beers, C. W., 155 

Beethoven, Ludwig van, 228 

Begbie, Harold, 727, 942 

Behn, Dr., 366 

Belisle, A., 946 

Bell, Alexander G., 276 

Bell, Sir Charles, 421 

Bellamy, Edward, 1008 

Bellet, Daniel, 946 

Belloc, Hilaire, 654 

Bennett, Arnold, 216 

Bentham, Jeremy, 
940, 948 

Bentley, A. F., 458-61, 501, 503 

Bergson, Henri, 373, 374, 422, 
427, 964, 989-94, 1004 

Bernard, Luther, L., 854, 1006 

Bernhard, L., 275, 770, 945 

Bernheim, A., 430 

Bertillon, Jacques, 265 

Besant, Annie, 123, 124, 560, 
949 

Besant, Walter, 335 

Best, Harry, 276, 568 

Bevan, Edwyn R., 660 

Beveridge, W. H., 568 

Bhattacharya, Jogendra N., 728 

Bigg, Ada H., 947 

Binet, Alfred, rr6-20, 148, 153, 
157, 424, 431, 496 

Bing, Alexander M., 652 

Bismarck, Prince. 238, 239, 780, 
793, 794 

Bjorkman, Edwin A., 154 


ToQ, 500, 


IOI4 


Blackmar, F. W., 499, 779 

Blair, R. H., 362, 366 

Blanchard, Phyllis, 649 

Blanchard, R. H., 658 

Bloch, Iwan, 221, 333 

Blondel, H., 728 

Blowitz, Henri de, 859 

Blumenbach, J. F., 243 

Bluntschli, Johann K., 650, 858 

Blyden, Edward W., 654 

Boas, Franz, 19, 156, 332, 660, 
725, 739, 770; 77051030 

Bodenhafer, Walter B., 48 

Bogardus, Emory S., 855 

Bohme, Margarete, 652 

Bohannon, E. W., 273 

Bois, Henri, 943 

Bonger, W. A., 563, 560 

Bonnaterre, J. P., 276 

Boodin, J. E., 426 

Booth, Charles, 44, 45, 58, 212, 
219, 335, 955 

Booth, William, 942 

Borght, R. van der, 428 

Bosanquet, Bernard, 217 


Bosanquet,. Helen, 215, 222, 
1007 


Bossuet, J. B., 906 
Botsford, George W., 940 
Bouglé, C., 728 
Bourde, Paul, 656 
Bourgoing, P. de, 275, 945 
Bourne, Rev. Ansel, 472, 473 
Bourne, H. R. Fox, 565, 850 
Boutmy, Emile, 940 
Boutroux, Pierre, 652 
Bovet, Pierre, 650 
Bradford, Gamaliel, Jr., 731 
Bradlaugh, Charles, 560 
Bradley, F. H., rog 
Bradley, Henry, 941 
Braid, James. 424 
Brailsford, H. N., 654 
Braithwaite, W. C., 944 
Brancoff, D. M , 945 
Brandenburg, Broughton, 780 
Brandes, Georg, 144, 408, 778 
Braubach. W.. 810 
Breckinridge, Sophonisba P.. 
221 222,570) Or 
Brehm, A. E., 810 
Brent, Charles H., 855 
Brentano, Lujo, 500, 659 
Breuer, J., 838 
Bridges, Horace, 781 
Bridges, J. H., 58 
Bridges, J. W., 148 
Bridgman, Laura, 244, 366 


Bright, John, 447 

Brill, A. A., 273 

Brinton, Daniel G., 666, 671-74, 
725, 855, 857 

Brissenden, Paul 
567, 658 

Bristol, Lucius M., 718, 725 

Bronner, W., 940 

Bronner, Augusta F., 50, 155, 
563 

Brooks, John Graham, 567, 658, 
925, 935 

Browne, Crichton, 366 

Browne, Sir Thomas, 65, 131 


Bruhl, S. Lévy-. see WLévy- 
Bruhl, S. 


Bruner, F. G., 156 

Brunhes, Jean, 270, 274 

Bryan, William J., 734 

Bryce, James, 653, 655, 050, 


726, 759, 779, 851, 852n., 858, 
861, 941, 984-89, 1004, IOTI 


Brynmor-Jones, David, 152, 
945 

Buchanan, J. R., 731 

Buck, Carl D., 660 

Buck, S. J., 942 

Buckle, Henry Thomas, 4, 5, 
270, 403, 408, 912, 1005 

Biicher, Karl, 385-89, 428, 528- 
32, 728, 938 

Bullock, Edward, 332 

Bunyan, John, 125 

Burckhard, M., 940 


Burgess, Ernest W., 334, 426, 
1007 


Burgess, John, 741 

Burgess, John S., 210 

Burgess, Thomas, 780 

Burgess, T. H., 366, 367, 368 

Burke, Edmund, 440, 850 

Burnell, A. C., 275 

Burns, Allen T., 50, 335, 408, 
773, 782 

Burns, J., 943 

Burr, Anna R., 727 

Burton, Richard F., 152 

Bury, J. B., 333, 958-59, 1004 

Busch, Paul, 414 

Bushee, F. A., 1005 

Bussell, F W., 043 

Buswell, Leslie, 651 

Butler, Joseph, 430 

Butler, Ralph, 660 

Butler, Samuel, 1008 

Butterfield, K. L., too9 

Buzzard, E. F., 650 


Frederick, 


Cabet, Etienne, 1008 
Cabrol, F., 930 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Cadiére, L., 937 
Caelius, 386 
Caesar, 147, 238, 386, 387, 751 
Cahan, Abraham, 782 
Caird, Edward, 1005 
Cairnes, J. E., 547, 548, 549 
Calhoun, Arthur W., 215, 222, 
720 
Calvin, 817 2 
Campanella, Tommaso, too 
Campbell, John C., 274, 656 
Campbell, Thomas J., 943 
Campeano, M., 940 
Canat, René, 273 
Cannon, Walter B., 422, 427 
Cardan, Jerome, 147 
Carlile, Richard, 560 
Carlton, Frank T., 658 
Carlyle, Thomas, 404 
Carnegie, Andrew, 670 
Carpenter, Edward, 1004 
Carr-Saunders, A. M., 564 
Carter, George R., 565 
Cartwright, Peter, 943 
Carver, Thomas N., 1006 
Case, Clarence M., 653, 1005 
Case, S. J., 857 
Castle, W. E., 131, 150 
Caxton, William, 237 
Cellini, Benvenuto, 154 
Chabeneix, Paul, 855 
Chapin, F. Stuart, 50, 855, 
1007 
Chapin, Robert C., 215, 221 
Chapman, 208 
Charcot, J. M., 147, 415, 424 
Charlemagne, 238 
Chen, T. A., 780 
Cherrington, Ernest H., 942 
Chevillon, André, 652 
Chevreul, M. E., 462 
Cheyney, Edward P., 490 
Cheysson, E., 728 
Chiro], Valentine, 96, 936 
Chrestus. 386 
Christensen, A., 939 
Churchill, William, 275 
Cicero, 386, 387 
Ciszewski, S., 775 
Claghorn, Kate H., 781 
Clarendon, Ear! of, 65 
Clark, H., 930 
Clark, John B., 545-51 
Clark, Thomas A., 731 
Claudius, Emperor, 508, 752 
Clayton, H. H., 946 
Clayton, Joseph; 854 


OE ——_ 


Clemens, Samuel L., (Mark 
Twain, pseud.), 154, 314 


Clements, Frederic E., 
525-27, 555, 571 

Clerget, Pierre, 947 

Cleveland, Catharine C., 943 

Clibborn, Edward, 542 

Clodd, Edward, 857 

Clough, H. W., 946 

Cobb, Irvin, 835 

Cobden, Richard, 447, 948 

Coblenz, Felix. 153 

Codrington, R. H., 856 

Coe, George Albert, 235-37, 726 

Coffin, Ernest W., 779 

Cohen, Rose, 774, 782 

Coicou, M., 728 

Colcord, Joanna, 223 

Coleman, Charles T., 940 

Coleridge, Samuel T., 368 

Collier, John, 731 

Combarieu, J., 938 

Commons, John R., 647, 658, 
659, 776, 779, 860, 942 

Comte, Auguste, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 


12, 24, 25, 30, 43, 44, 57, 60, 
61, 68, 143, 210, 406, 716, 950, 
968-69, 1005 

Condorcet, Marie J. A. C., 3, 
554, 1005 

Conn, Herbert W., 1007 

Connor, Dr. Bernard, 241 

Constantin, A., 651 

Conway, M., 939 

Cook, Edward, 859 


Cooley, Charles H., 56, 58, 67, 
C7208; 70-71, I51, 157, 158, 
159, 216, 285, 330, 421, 426, 
431, 500, 649, 665, 708-12, 
723, 728, 720, 855, 934, 955; 
I004 


Coolidge, Mary R., 780 
Corelli, Marie, 936 
Cornish, Vaughan, 218 
Cornyn, John H., 751-54 


Corot, Jean Baptiste Camille, 
120 


Cory,jH. E., 731 
Coulter, J. M., 131, 150 
Crafts, L. W., 254-57 


Crawley, A. Ernest, 221, 282, 
291-93, 330, 332, 654, 850, 
856, 939, 1006 


Creel, George, 837 

Creighton, Louise, 778 

Crile, George W., 521-25, 564, 
572, 644, 783 

Croce, Benedetto, ro 

Croly, Jane (Mrs.), 941 

Crooke, William, 276, 728, 777, 
042 


217; 


INDEX OF NAMES 


Crosby, Oscar T., 651 
Crothers, Samuel M., 333 
Crothers, T. D., 940 
Crowell, John F., 565 
Crozier, John B, 1008 
Culin, Stewart, 656, 657 
Cummings, B. F., 154 
Cunningham, William, 565, 778 
Cutler, James E., 655 
Cutrera, A., 656 

Cuvier, Georges, 809 


D’Aeth, F. G., 729 

D’Ambrosio, Manlio A., 566 

Damiron, J. Ph., 649 

Dana, Charles A., 858 

Dana, Richard H., Jr., 275 

Daniels, John, 781 

Danielson, F. H., 150, 254 

Dargun, L. von, 220 

Darwin, Charles, 4, 7, 146, 167, 
214, 320, 342, 301-05, 305-70, 
421, 422, 425, 420, 433, 511, 
512, 513, 514-18, 518-21, 555, 


558, 564, 571, 644, 650, 663, 
768, 810, 959, IOOI 


Daudet, Alphonse, 123 

Daudet, Ernest, 651 

Dauzat, Albert, 420 

Davenport-C: B:, 72,.231=36, 
150, 254, 569, 1007 

Davenport, Frederick M., 932, 
042 

Davids, T. W. Rhys, 942 

Davis, Elmer H., 859 

Davis, H., 655 

Davis, Jerome, 781 

Davis, Katharine B., 570 

Davis, Michael M., 781 

Dawley, Almena, 570 

Dealey, J. Q., 222 

Deane, W. J., 238 

DeGreef, Guillaume, 58 

Delabarre, Frank A., 1009 

Delbet, E., 728 

Delbriick, H., 273, 777 

Delesalle, Georges, 429 

Dellepaine, A., 1007 

Delvaille, Jules, 1004 

De-Marchi, A., 856 

Demolins, Edmond, 152, 333 

Demoor, Jean, 1007 

Demosthenes, 641 

Densmore, Frances, 938 

Desagher, Maurice, 276 

Descartes, René, 372, 463, 465 

Despine, Prosper, 937 


Devine, Edward T., 333, 401, 
408, 568, 731 


IOI5 


Devon, J., 570 


Dewey, John 36, 37, 38, 75-79, 
I5I, 152, 166, 184-87, 202, 
224, 424, 427, 430, 508, 964, 
975-77, 1004, IOLO 


Diaz, Porfirio, 987 
Dibblee, G. Binney, 428 


Dicey, A. V., 445-51, 558, 703; 
831, 851, 858 


Dickinson, Z. C., 500 

Diderot, Denis, 807 

Dilich, Wilhelm, 241 

Dinneen, P. S., 945 

Disraeli, Benjamin, 721 

Ditchfield, P. H., 333 

Dixon, Roland B., 777, 854 

Dixon, W. H., 944 

Dobschiitz, E. von, 333 

Dodge, Raymond, 837-41 

Doll, E. A., 254-57 

Dominian, Leon, 274, 648, 945 

Donovan, Frances, 570 

Dorsey, J. Owen, 656, 711 

Dostoévsky, F., 145, 273 

Dowie, John Alexander, 944 

Down, T. C., 805-08, 941 

Downey, June E., 149, 156 

Drachsler, Julius, 774, 776, 781 

Draghicesco, D., 728 

Draper, J. W., 644, 640 

Dubois, L. Paul, 945 

Du Bois, W. E. Burghardt, 155, 
222, 780, 782 

Dugas, L., 370-75, 422, 427 

Dugdale, Richard L., 146, 150, 
254 

Dugmore, H. H., 861 

Duguit, Léon, 860 

Dumas, Georges, 938 

Dunbar, Paul Lawrence, 630 

Duncan, Sara Jeannette, 655 

Durand, E. Dana, 652 

Durkheim, Emile, 18, 33, 34, 35, 
36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 58, 166, 
105-98, 217, 220, 222, 267, 
268, 343, 671, 714-18, 723, 
729, 854, 856, 804 

hear Alexander M., 774, 
781 


Dutaillis, C. E. Petit-, see 
Petit-Dutaillis, C. E. 


Fast, E. M., 131, 150 
Eastman, R. S., 731 
Eaton, Isabel, 780 
Eddy, Arthur J., 566 
Edie, Lionel D., 498 
Edman, Irwin, 151 
Edwards, Bryan, 727 
Edwards, E., 942 


1016 


Edwards, Lyford P., 940 
Edwards, Milne, 518 
Effertz, Otto, 564 
Egerton, Charles E., 652 
Egli, Emil, 943 
Ehrenfels, Chrn. v., 500 
Ehrlich, Eugen, 860 
Elderton, Ethel M., 567, 560 
Eliot, George, 145, 231 
Eliot, Thomas D., 501 
Elliott, A. M., 275 


Ellis, Havelock, 151, 156, 215, 
221, 2232, 000n720,1039,40574 
1007 : 

Ellwood, Charles A., 41, 58, 
567, 846-48, 949, 1007 

Elsing, W. T., 567 

Elster, Alexander, 567 

Elworthy, F. T., 332 

Ely, Richard T., 444-45, 502, 
640, 855 

Empedocles, 292 

Empey, Arthur Guy, 429 

Engel, Ernst, 215, 221 

Engelgardt, A. N., 870 

Engels, Frederick, 566, 568 

Espinas, Alfred, 165, 167-68, 
217, 223, 224, 407. 

Estabrook, A. H., 150, 254 

Eubank, Earle E., 222 

Evans, F. W., 944 


Evans, Maurice S.. 646, 654, 
SII-I2 


Faber, Geoffrey, 660 

Fadl, Said Memum Abul, 651 
Fahlbeck, Pontus, 218 
Fairchild, Henry P., 770, 780 
Faria, Abbé, 424 

Faris, Ellsworth, 150, 960-62 
Farmer, John S., 428, 429 
Farnell, L. R., 856 

Farnam, Henry W., 560 
Farquhar, J. N., 944 

Faunce, W. H. P., 778 
Fauriel, M. C., 937 

Faust, Albert B., 780 
Fawkes, J. W., 939 

Fay, Edward A., 276 
Federici, Romolo, 1006 
TFedcrtchouk, Y., 945 

Féré, Ch., 405, 431 
Ferguson, G. O., Jr., 156 
Fernald, Mabel R., 570 
Ferrari, G. C., 118 

Ferrero, Guglielmo, 936 
Feuerbach, Paul J. A. von, 276 
Fichte, Johann G., 106-7 


Field, J., 948 

Field, James A., 567 

Fielding-Hall, H., 651 

Finck. Henry T., 221 

Finlayson, Anna W., 150 

Finney, C. G., 943 

Finot, Jean, 654 

Finsler, G., 037 

Fischer, Eugen, 776 

Fishberg, Maurice, 152, 271 
274, 431, 778 

Fisher, H. A., 660 

Flaten, Nils, 275 

Fleming, Daniel J., 779 

Fleming, Walter L., 730, 941 

Fletcher, Alice C., 938 

Flexner, Abraham, 570 

Flint, Robert, 567, 053 

Florian, Eugenio, 333 

Fluegel. John Carl, 222 

Flynt, Josiah [pseud.], see Wii- 
lard, Josiah Flynt 

Foerster, Robert F., 780 

Foley, Caroline A., 947 

Follett, M. P , 855, 860 

Forel, A., 171, 172 

Fornarsi di Verce, E., 570 

Fosbroke, Thomas D., 274 

Fosdick, H. E., 237 

Foster William Z., 653 

Fouillée, Alfred, 152, 155, 461- 
64, 499 

Frame, Nat T., 1002 

Francke, Kuno, 493, 498, 660 

Frankfurter, Felix, 59 

Frazer, J. G., 151, 220, 330, 850. 
855. 856 

Frederick the Great, 631, 986 

Freeman, Edward A., 3, 10, 23 

Freeman, R. Austin, 957, 1006 

Freud, Sigmund, 41, 147, 154, 
236, 320, 475, 478, 470, 482, 
486, 487, 407, 500, 503, 641, 
855, 857, 939 

Friedlander, L.. 935 

Friedmann, Max, 927, 937 

Friesen, P. M., 658 


Frobenius, Leo, 643, 651, 730, 
776, 1004 


Froebel, F. W. A., 85 
Froment, J., 650 

Froude, James A., 1006 
Fuller, Bampfylde, 935 
Fustel de Coulanges, 854, 860 


Gall, F. J., 148 

Galpin, Charles J., 212, 218, 
232, 247-49, 274, 278, 724, 
731 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Galton, Francis, 726, 963, 979- 
83, 1007, IOIO 


Gamble, Sidney D., 2190 

Gardner, Charles S., 949 

Gavit, John P., 781 

Gebhart, Emile, 943 

Geddes, P., 59, 156 

Gehlke, Charles E., 39 

Gehring, Johannes, 658 

Gennep, A. van, 857, 930 

George, Henry, 1009 

Gerland, Georg, 270, 274, 856 

Gesell, A. L., r50 

Ghent, W. J., 936 

Gibbins, Henry de B., 948 

Gibbon, Edward, 711 

Gibson, Thomas, 946 

Gibson, William, 943 

Giddings, Franklin H., 32, 33, 
36, 40, 58, 408, 545, 613-10, 
662, 735, 740, 1009 

Gilbert, William S., 65 

Gillen, F. J., 152, 220, 861 

Gillin, J. L., 490, 568, 658 

Ginsberg, M., 214, 220 

Gladden, Washington, 491, 408 

Glotz, Gustave, 656 


Glynn, A. W. Wiston-, see 
Wiston-Glynn 


Gobineau, Arthur de, 769 

Goddard, Henry H., 134, 146, 
148, 150, 155, 254, 568 

Godkin, Edwin L., 858 

Godwin, William, 554, 566 

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 
129, 909, 967 

Goitein, H., 861 

Goldenweiser, A. A., 151, 777 

Goltz, E. von der, 273 


Gencourt, Edmond de, -and 
Jules de, 405 


Goodhart, S. P., 468 

Goodsell, Willystine, 222 

Gordon, Anna A., 949 

Gordon, Ernest, 942 

Goring, Charles, 148, 156 

Gosnell, H. F., 660, 940 

Gould, S. Baring-, see Baring- 
Gould, S. 

Gowen, B. S., 937 

Gowin, Enoch B., 855 

Graebner, F., 777 

Graetz, H., 944 

Grant, Madison, 963 

Gras, N.S. B., 543-45, 565 

Grass, K., 658, 942 


Grasserie, R. de la,- see La 
Grasserie, R. de 


Gratiolet, Pierre, 421 


* — 
i i i it i ee ee ee in 


Gray, Thomas, 314 

Gray, W., 856 

Greco, Carlo Nardi-, see Nardi- 
Greco, Carlo 


Greeley, Horace, 948 

Green, Alice S. A., 334 

Green, Samuel S., 780 
Gregoire, Abbé, 451 

Gregory XV, 837 

Greig, J. Y. T., 427 

Grenfell, George, 779 

Grierson, Sir G., 687 

Grierson, P. J. H., 565 
Griffiths, Arthur, 273 

Grinnell, G. B., 938 

Groat, George G., 658 

Groos, Karl, 427, 642, 643, 649 
Grosse, Ernst, 221, 790, 938 
Grote, George, 233, 260-64, 853 
Grotjahn, Alfred, 567 

Groves, E. R., 941 

Grundtvig, N. F. S., Bishop, 


931r 
Gulick, J. T., 227 
Gulick, Sidney L., 431, 781 
Gummere, Amelia M., 274 
Gummere, F. B., 938 
Gumplowicz, Ludwig, 212, 341, 


346-48, 420, 426, 432, 645, 
648, 776 


Guyot, Edouard, 567 


Hadley, Arthur T., 659 

Haeckel, Ernst, 912 

Hagens, J. von, 171 

Haines, Lynn, 659 

Haldane, Viscount, ro5-11 

Hall, Arthur C., 1009 

Hall, Frederick S., 652 

Hall, G. Stanley, 80, 153, 427, 
650 

Hall, H. Fielding-, see Fielding- 
Hall, H. 

Hall, W. P., 565 

Hammer, von, 380 

Hammond, Barbara, 334 

Hammond, John L., 334 

Haney, Lewis H., 566 

Hanford, Benjamin, 653 

Hanna, Charles A., 780 

Hanna, Rev. Thomas C., 468, 
469 

Hansen, F. C. C., 431, 534 

Hansen, J., 937 

Hanson, William C., 569 

Hapgood, Hutchins, 154, 731, 
782 

Harlan, Rolvix, 944 

Harnack, Adolf, 941 


INDEX OF NAMES 


Harper, Ida H., 940 
Harrington, James, 1008 
Harris, Benjamin, 834 
Harris, Emerson  P. 
Florence H., 859 


Harris, George, 1005, 1009 

Harrison, Frederic, 1007 

Harrison, James A., 275 

Harrison, Jane E., 17, 18, 856, 
857 

Harrison, Shelby M., so, 210, 
858 

Hart, A. B., 498 

Hart, Joseph K., 731 

Hartenberg, P., 940 

Hartmann, Berthold, 89 

Harttung, Pflugk-, see Pflugk- 
Harttung 

Hasanovitz, Elizabeth, 782 

Hasbach, Wilhelm, 495 

Hassert, Kurt, 218 

Hauser, Caspar, 239 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 237 

Hayes, A. W., 731 

Hayes, Edward C., 409 

Hayes, Mary H., 570 

Hayes, Samuel P., 943 

Haynes, E. S. P., 650 

Haynes, Frederick E., 659 

Headlam, Cecil, 946 

Healy, William, 509, 155, 273, 
563, 648, 935 

Hearn, Lafcadio, 938 

Heaton, John L., 858 

Hecker, J. F. C., 875, 879-81, 
937 

Heckethorn, C. W., 274, 720 

Hegel, G. W. F., 60, 159, 959 

Heidenhain, R., 415 

Heijningen, Hendrik M. K. 
van, 656 

Hellpach, W., 152 

Helps, Sir Arthur, 66, 727 

Hempl, George, 275 

Henderson, Charles R., 567 

Henderson, Ernest N., 424, 430 

Henry, R., 945 

Héricourt, J., 118 

Hermann, F. B. W. v., 490 

Heron, David, 561, 567 

Herschel, Sir J. F. W., 1oo1 

Hertzka, Theodor, 1008 

Hertzler, Joyce O., 1008 


Hess, Grete Meisel-, see Meisel- 
Hess 


Hibben, J. G., 1006 
Hichborn, Franklin, 659 
Hicks, Mary L., 731 


and 


1017 


Higgs, Henry, 557 

Hill, Georgiana, 948 

Hinde, Sidney L., 860 n. 

Hinds, William A., 334 

Hirn, Yrjé, 344, 401-7, 427, 
430, 434, 808, 869, 870, 938 

Hirt, Eduard, 155 

Hitti, Philip K., 781 

Hobbes, Thomas, 25, 29, 30, 
61, 109, 143, 158, 223, SII, 
645 ‘ 

Hobhouse, Leonard T., 56, ro2- 
95, 214, 220, 224, 728, 795, 


796,798 n., 840, 854, 963, 964, 
969-73, 1006, 1007 


Hobson, John A., 568 

Hocart, A. M., 740 

Hoch, A., 555; 273 

Hocking, W. E., 98-roo, 151, 
207-9 

Hodder, Edwin, 948 

Hogarth, William, 402 

Holdsworth, W. S., 861 

Hollingworth, Leta S., 155, 156 

Hollman, Anton H., 931 

Holmes, O. W., Jr., 836, 853 

Holmes, S. J., 1007 

Holmes, William H., 948 

Holt, Edward B., 478-82, 500, 
593 

Home, H., Lord Kames, 402 

Homer, 264 

Hooper, Charles E., 332 

Horn, Paul, 429 

Hotten, John C., 420 

Howard, G. E., 214, 222, 941 

Howard, John, 948 

Howells, William Dean, 630 

Hoxie, Robert F., 647, 658 

Hoyt, F. C., 657 

Hubert, H., 856 

Hudson, Frederic, 859 

Hudson, W. H., 245-47, 278, 
332, 604-5, 883-86 

Hughes, Charles E., 1009 

Hughes, Henry, 430 

Hugo, Victor, 429 

Hulme, E. M., 043 

Humboldt, Alexander von 673, 
9°09 

Hume, David, 3, 430, 554, 786, 
829-30 

Hunter, Robert, 653 

Huntington, Ellsworth, 
666, 726 

Huot, Louis, 650 

Hupka. S. von, 333 

Hurry, Jamieson B., 946 

Huxley, Thomas H., 963 


328, 


1018 


Hyde, 749 
Hyndman, Henry M., 949 


Inge, William R., 
IOOI, 1004 
Ingersoll, Robert, 912 


Ingram, John K., 565, 675 

Treland, W. W., 941 

Irving, L., 1009 

Irwin, Will, 858 

Itard, Dr. Jean E. M. G., 242, 
271-72, 276 

Iyer, L. K. A. K., 728 


954, 959, 


Jacobowski, L., 221 

Jakstas, A., 946 

James, B. B., 944 

James, E. O., 855 

James, William, 80, 122-26, 151, 


153, 421, 427, 472, 473, 486, 
598, 662, 669, 726, 736, 932 


Janes, George M., 652 

Janet, Pierre, 147, 430, 474, 935 
Jankelevitch, S., 1005 
Jannasch, R., 726 


Jarau, G. Louis-, see Louis- 
Jarau 


Jarrett, Mary C., 560, 648 
Jastrow, J., 335 

Jefferson, Thomas, 40 
Jellinek, Georg, 725 

Jenks, Albert, 211, 210, 775 
Jenks, Edward, 861 

Jenks, Jeremiah, 779 
Jennings, Hargrave, 730 
Jennings, H. S., 150, 285, 488 
Jephson, Henry, 858 
Jespersen, Otto, 428 
Jevons, William S., 500, 948 
Jhering, Rudolph von, 861 
Johnson, James W., 154 
Johnson, John H., 657 
Johnson, R. H., 568, 1007 
Johnson, Samuel, 451 
Johnson, W., 777 
Johnston, C., 655 
Johnston, Harry H., 779 
Johnston, R. M., 730 


Jones, David Brynmor-, see 
Brynmor-Jones 


Jones, Edward D., 946 

Jones, Rufus M., 944 

Jonson, Ben, 239 

Jordanes, 941 

Joseph IT, of Austria, 934 

Jost, M., 944 

Jouffroy, T. S., 402 

Judd, Charles H., 381-84, 390- 
gr 


Jung, Carl G., 77, 147, 236, 407, 
500, 857 

Junius [pseud.], 858 

Juquelier, P., 411, 412, 937 


Kaindl, Raimund F., 770, 778 

Kalb, Ernst, 658 

Kallen, Horace M., 778, 781 

Kammerer, Percy G., 223 

Kan, J. van, 579 

Kant, Immanuel, 55, 111, 426, 
909 

Kapp, Friedrich, 780 

Kaufmann, Moritz, 1008 

Kaupas, H., 946 

Kautsky, Karl, 333 

Kawabé, Kisaburo, 428 

Keith, Arthur, 660 


Keller, Albert G., 72, 137-38, 
160, 651, 719, 725, 1007 

See Helen, 154, 231, 243-45, 
27 ao ae 

Kellogg, Paul U., 50, 219 

Kellogg, Walter G., 731 

Kelly, J. Liddell, 778 

Kelsen, Hans, 860 

Kelsey, Carl, 1007 

Kelynack, T. N., 569 

Kemble, Frances A., 728 

Kennedy, Albert J., 731 

Kenngott, G. F., 219 

Kent, Frank R., 940 

Kerlin, Robert T., 660 

Kerner, R. J., 777 

Kerr, Norman S., 569 

Kerschensteiner, Georg, 90 

Kettle, T. M., 945 

Key, Ellen, 214, 221 

Key, Wilhelmina, 254 

Khoras, P, 950 

Kidd, Benjamin, 1096 

Kidd, D., 152 

Kilpatrick, James A., 651 

King, Irving, 153, 949 

Kingsbury, J. E., 428 

Kingsford, C. L., 941 

Kingsley, Charles, 273 

Kingsley, Mary H., 779 

Kipling, Rudyard, 67 

Kirchhoff, G. R., 13 

Kirkpatrick, E. A., 153 

Kistiakowski, Dr. Th., 217 

Kite, Elizabeth S., 150, 254 

Klein, Henri F., 730 

Klenz, Heinrich, 429 

Kline, L. W., 221 

Kluge, F., 4209 

Knapp, G. F., 217, 564, 729 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Kneeland, George J., 570 

Knopf, S. A., roo9 

Knortz, Karl, 275 

Knowles, L. C. A., 565 

Knowlson, T. Sharper, 237-3¢ 

Kober, George M., 569 

Kobrin, Leon, 219 

Kocourek, Albert, 852, 854, 860 

Kohle, Josef, 566, 854, 856 

Kolthamer, F. W., 550 

Koren, John, 569 

Kostir, Mary S., 150, 254 

Kostyleff, N., 500, 855 

Kotik, Dr. Naum, 937 

Kovalewsky, M., 220, 728 

Kowalewski, A., 156 

Kraepelin, E., 149, 155 

Krauss, F. S., 152 

Kreibig, Josef K., 500 

Kroch, Arthur, 858 

Kroeber, A. L., 948 

Kropotkin, P., 566, 940 

Kudirka, Dr. V., 932 

hy Samuel (Alfred, pseud.), 
5 


La Bruyére, Jean de, 147, 154 
Lacombe, Paul, 498 

Lafargue, G., 728 

Lagorgette, Jean, 651 

La Grasserie, R. de, 650, 728 
La Hodde, Lucien de, 730 
Laidler, Harry W., 653 
Lamarck, J. B., 146 


Lamprecht, Karl, 493, 494, 498, 
1005 


Landauer, G., 949 
Lane, W. D., 657 
Lane-Poole, S., 935 
Lang, Andrew, 276 
Lang, Lewis J.. 6590 
Lang, R., 152 
Lange, C. G., 421 


Langenhove, Fernand van, 819- 
22, 857 


Lankester, E. Ray, 1004 

Lapouge, V., 266 

La Rochefoucauld, 
de, 371 


La Rue, William, 944 

Lasch, R., 221 

Lasker, Bruno, 568, 9490 
Laski, Harold, 860 

Laubach, Frank C., 333 
Lauck, William J., 770 

Law, John, 946 

Lay, Wilfrid, 649 

Lazarus, Moritz, 21, 217, 428 


Francois 





Lea, Henry C., 656, 658 

Le Bon, Gustave, 33. 34, 41, 58, 
Th Oe 100, 920273550213, (20S, 
225, 660, 857, 867, 868, 860, 
871, 876, 857-93, 804, 905-9, 
027, 934, 939, 949, 950, O51 

Lebrun, Mme. Vigée, 907 

Lecky, W. E. H., 644, 650, 858, 
875, 015-24 

Lee, Ann, 944 

Lee, James Melvin, 859 

Lee, Vernon (pseud.), 402, 878 

Le Gouix, M., 728 

Lehmann, A., 431 

Leibnitz, Gottfried W., 306 

Leiserson, William M., 781 

Leland, C. G., 420 

Leonard, O., 655 

Leopold III, 797 

Leopold, Lewis, 807-11, 854 

Le Play, P. G. Frédéric, 59, 215, 
221 


Leroy-Beaulieu, P., 726 

Lester, J. C., 730 

Letelier, Valentin, 1005 

Letourneau, Ch., 220, 643, 650, 
727, 854 

Letzner, Karl, 275 

Levine, Louis, 567, 658 

Levland, Jorgen, 930 

Lévy-Bruhl, L., 24, 151, 332 

Levy, Hermann, 565 

Lewis, George C., 858 

Lewis, Matthew, G., 677-81 

Lewis, Sinclair, 213, 219 

Lewisohn, Ludwig, 782 

Lhérisson, E., 938 

Lhermitte, J., 650 

L’Houet, A., 334 

Lichtenberger, J. P., 222 

Lilienfeld, Paul von, 28, 58, 567 

Lillehei, Ingebrigt, 660 

Limousin, Ch., 728 

Lindeman, Eduard, 59, 731 

Linnaeus, 515 

Linton, E. L., 947 

Lippert, Julius, 151 

Lippmann, Walter, 151, 834-37, 
851, 857, 850, 936, 948 

Lisch, R., 428 

Lloyd, A. H., 1004 

Lockwood, George B., 944 

Loeb, Jacques, 82, 83, 84, 150, 
467, 404 

Lowenfeld, L., 155, 410 

Loisy, Alfred, 939 


Lombroso, Cesare, 
563, 950 
Lord, Eliot, 780 


E45; 155, 


INDEX OF NAMES 


Lord, Herbert Gardiner, 650 

Loria, A., 408 

Lotze, Hermann, 420, 426 

Loughborough, J. N., 944 

Louis-Jarau, G., 945 

Loutschisky, I., 728 

Love, Albert G., 569 

Lowell, Amy. 834 

Lowell, A. Lawrence, 6509, 702, 
826-29, 851, 857, 864 

Lowie, Robert H., 18, 19, 220, 
723, 729, 777 

Lubbock, J., 182, 396 

Lucretius, 953, 965, 966 

Ludwig, E., 651 

Lummis, Charles F., 930 

Luther, Martin, 817 

Lyall, Sir Alfred, 108 

Lyell, Charles, 768 


Lyer, F. Miiller-, see Miiller- 
Lyer 
Lytton, Edward-Bulwer, 1008 


Macaulay, T. B., 142 

Macbeth, A., 153 

McCormac, E. I., 727 

M’Culloch, O. C., 146, 150 

MacCurdy, J. T., 936 

Macdonagh, Michael, 851, 850 

McDougall, William, 58, 426, 
441, 464-67, 4096, 501, 655, 
721, 726, 963 

McGee, W J, 211, 210, 777; 
861, 1006 


Mach, Ernst, 13 
Machiavelli, 100, 143 
Maciver, R. M., 426 
Mclver, J., 560 

Mackay, Charles, 947 
Mackay, R. W., 649 
MacKay, Thomas, 558, 566 
McKenzie, F. A., 775 
Mackenzie, J. S., 1004 
McKenzie, R. D., 218, 408 
McLaren, A. D., 660 
MacLean, J. P., 943 
McLennan, J. F., 220 
McMutrtrie, Douglas C., 569 
McVey, Frank L., 942 


Macrosty, Henry W., 565 


Mahomet, 419 

Maine, Sir Henry S., 210, 220, 
556, 565, 710, 826, 852, 853. 
854, 860, 862 


Maitland, Frederic W., 861 
Malinowski, Bronislaw, 220 
Mallery, Garrick, 422, 427 
Mallock, W. H., 720, 948, 1009 
Maloney, E. F., 936 


IOIQ 


Malthus, T.R., 7, 515; 554, 
555, 560, 562, 564 

Mandeville, Bernard de, 1008 

yerch A. De-, see De-Marchi, 


Marot, Helen, 658 

Marpillero, G., 335 

Marshall, Alfred, 499, 564 

Marshall, Henry R., 426, 600-3 

Martin, E. D., 930 

Martineau, Harriet, 1, 2, 57, 
562 

Marvin, Francis S., 778, 965-66 

Marxys Karl, 77.6 3424) 502, 
566, 568, 912, 1008 

Mason, Otis T., 302, 428, 431, 
041 

Mason, William A., 428 

Massart, J., 218. 1007 

Mathiez, Albert, 658 

Matthews, Brander, 948 

Matthews, W., 038 

Maublanc, René, 651 

Mauss, M., 856 

Maxon, C. H., 943 

Mayer, Emile, 652 

Mayer, J. R., 768 

Mayo-Smith, Richmond, 741. 
776, 778 

Mazzini, 817 

Mead, G. H., 424, 426 

Meader, John R., 942 

Means, Philip A., 654 

Mecklin, John M., 654, 730 

Medlicott, H. B., 377 

Meillet, A., 275, 945 

Meinong, Alexius, 500 

Meisel-Hess, Grete, 214, 221 

Mendel, G., 71, 146, 157 

Menger, Karl, 499 

Mensch, Ella, 936 

Mercier, C. A., 500 

Meredith, George, 145 

Merker, Polizeirat, 240 


Merriam, Charles E., 650, 702, 


940 
Mesmer, F. A., 424 
Metcalf, H. C., 152 
Meumann, Ernst, 89 
Meyer, Adolph, 285, 488 
Meyer, J. L., 937 
Miceli, V., 9390 
Michels, Robert, 647, 650 
Michiels, A., 373, 374 
Miklosich, Franz, 655 
Mill, James, 451 


Mill, John Stuart, 547, 561, 850, 
1005 


Miller, Arthur H., 855 


1020 


Miller, Edward, 044 

Miller, Herbert A., 335, 656, 
660, 781, 786-87, 870 

Miller, J. D., 948 

Miller, Kelly, 140, 257, 654 

Millingen, J. G., 656 

Millioud, Maurice, 858 

Millis, Harry A., 78c¢ 

Milmine, Georgine, 658 

Miner, Maude, 570 

Minin, 415 

Mirabeau, Octave, 154 

Mitchell, P. Chalmers, 172-75 

Mitchell, Wesley C., 946 

Moede, Walther, 941 

Moll, Albert, 88-92, 332, 412- 
T5, 430, 894 

Moltke, Count von, €70, 793- 
04 Nn. 

Monin, H., 728 

Montague, G., 7 

Montague, Helen, 156 

Montesquieu, Baron de, 3, 270 

Montgomery, K. L., 945 

Moody, Dwight L., 943 

Moody, W. R., 943 

Mooney, James, 943 

Moore, Edward C., 778 

Moore, Henry L., 946 

Moore, William H., 777 

More, Hannah, 949 

More, Thomas, 1008 

Moreau de Tours, 938 

Morel, E. D., 779, 707 

Morgan, Alexander, 1009 

Morgan, C. Lloyd, 150, 138, 180, 
342, 375-79; 431, 404, 725 

Morgan, E. L., 731 

Morgan, Lewis H., 214, 749 

Morgan, W. T., 659 

Morley, John, 725, 948, 1006 

Morris, Lloyd R., 660 

Morris, William, 1008 

Morrison, W. D., 92 

Morrow, Prince A., 223 

Morse, Josiah, 156, 655 

Morselli, Henry, 266, 272 

Mosiman, Eddison, 937 

Mouromtzeff, Mme. de, 728 

Miiller, F. Max, 342, 370-81, 
395, 433 

Miiller, Fritz, 520 

Miiller-Lyer, F., 1006 

Mumford, Eben, 855 

Mumford, Lewis, 1008 


Miinsterberg, Hugo, 424, 428, 
431, 668, 688-92, 726, 936 
Murray, W. A., 939 


Myers, C. S., 92-05, 936 
Myers, Gustavus, 650 
Myerson, Abraham, 223, 936 


Napoleon I, 28, 207, 238, 241, 
419, 631, 608, 7890 

Napoleon III, 698, 703 

Nardi-Grecc, Carlo, 861 

Nasmyth, George, too9 

Nassau, R. H., 856 

Naumann, Friedrich, 652, 809 

Neatby, W. Blair, 944 

Necker, J., 907 

Neill, Charles P., 653 

Neilson, George, 656 

Nesbitt, Florence, 221 

Nesfield, John C., 218, 681-84 

Neter; Eugen, 273 

Nevins, Allan, 859 

Nevinson, Margaret W., 568 

Newell, W. W., 940 

Newton, Sir Isaac, 13, 973 


Niceforo, Alfredo, 568, 1003, 
T009 


Nicolai, G. F., 644 

Nieboer, Dr. H. J., 674-77, 727, 
732 

Nietzsche, F. W., 500 

Nims, Harry D., 566 

Nitsch, C., 946 

Noiré, L., 305 

Nordau, Max, 935, 1004 

Nordhoff, Charles, 334, 657 

Norlie, O. M., 775 


Novicow, J., 212, 426, 645, 640, 
740, 741, 775, 854 


Oakesmith, John, 648, 660 
Oberholtzer, E. P., 859 
Obolensky, L. E., 1008 
O’Brien, Frank M., 859 
O’Brien, Frederick, 657 
Odin, Alfred, 855 

Odum, Howard, 152 

Oertel, Hans, 22 

Ogburn, W. F., 215, 498, 1006 
Ogden, C. K., 427 
Oldenburg, H., 856 

Older, Fremont, 659 

Olgin, Moissaye J., 949 
Oliver, Frederick S., 651 
Oliver, Thomas, 568 
Olmsted, F. L., 727 

Oncken, August, 565 
Oppenheimer, Franz, 50, 647 
Ordahl, George, 642, 649 


Ormond, Alexander T., 


340, 
420, 426 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Orth, Samuel P., 659 
Osborne, T. M., 563 
Osten, von, 413, 414, 430 
Osterhausen, Dr., 240 
Ostrogorskii, Moisei, 659 
Otto the Great, sor 

Owen, Richard, 768 
Owen, Robert Dale, 560 
Paget, Sir James, 366 
Pagnier, Armand, 156, 333 
Paine, Thomas, 912 
Palanti, G., 940 

Pandian, T. B., 333 

Park, Robert E., 1-57, 79-84, 


138-42, 157, 158, 187-91, 
200-202, 218, 224, 252-54, 
3II-15, 315-17, 335; 430; 


467-78, 619-26, 626-34, 655, 
656, 712-14 750-62,775, 781, 
783, 786-87, 8290-33, 859, 70, 
893-95, 930, 934, 939 

Parker, Carleton H., 152, 404, 
936 

Parkman, Francis, 777, 778 

Parmelee, Maurice, 217, 568, 
570, 1009 

Parsons, Elsie Clews, 220 

Parton, James, 654 

Partridge, G. E., 569, 726 

Pascal, B., 463 

Pascoe, C. F., 778 

Pasteur, Louis, 44 

Pater, Walter, 938 

Patetta, F., 656 

Paton, Stewart, 150 

Patrick, G. T. W., 593-600, 643, 
644, 950, 935, 947, 948 

Patten, Simon N., 498, 1008 

Patterson, M. R., 727 

Patterson, R. J., 727 

Paulhan, Fr., 332, 730 

Pavlov, I. P., 494, 830 

Payne, George Henry, 428 

Pearson, Karl, 13, 14, 948. 963, 
1007 

Pélissier, Jean, 932. 946 

Pennington, Patience, 334 

Percin, Alexandre, 650 

Periander, 67 

Pericles, 261 

Perry, Bliss, go 


' Perry, Ralph B., 426, 1007 


Perty, M., 809 

Peter the Great, 419, 934 
Peter the Hermit, 877 
Peterson, J., 156, 941 
Petit-Dutaillis, C. E., 651 
Petman, Charles, 275 


Petrie, W. M. F., 949 
Pfister, Ch., 275 





Pfister, Oskar, 500, 857 

Pfleiderer, Otto, 730 

Pflugk-Harttung, Julius von, 
941 

Pfungst, Oskar, 430 

Philippe, L., 728 

Phillips, Ulrich B., 727 

Phillips, W. Alison, 793-04 n. 

Phillips, Wendell, 948 

Picard, Edmond, 860 

Piderit, T., 421, 427 

Pillsbury, W. B., 648, 650, 654 

Pinet, G., 728 

Pintner, Rudolf, 155, 568 

Pitre, Giuseppe, 939 

Place, Francis, 560 


Plato, 99, 108, 238, 261, 607, 
986, 100 


Platt, Thomas G., 659 
Ploss, H., 220 

Plunkitt, G. W., 660 
Pollock, Frederick, 861 
Pope, Alexander, 283 n. 
Popenoe, Paul, 568, 1007 
Porter, W. T., 650 

Post, Albert H., 851-52, 860 
Pound, Arthur, 335 

Pound, Roscoe, 59, 860 


Powell, H. Baden-, see Baden- 
Powell, H. 


Poynting, J. H., 13 

Prescott, Frederick C., 938 

Preuss, Hugo, 334 

Preyer, W., 87 

Price, Dr., 554 

Price, G. F., 560 

Price, Maurice T., 779 

Prince, Morton, 70, 113-16, 
153, 474, 477, 648, 726, 777 

Prince, Samuel H., 950 

Probst, Ferdinand, 147, 154 

Proudhon, P. J., 566 

Puchta, G. F., 677 

Puffer, J. Adams, 646, 657 


Rainwater, Clarence E., 731, 
042 

Ralph, Julian, 275 

Rambosson, J., 938 

Randall, E. O., 944 

Rank, Otto, 857 

Rastall, B. M., 653 

Ratzel, Friedrich, 151 , 270, 274, 
298-301, 728, 770, 776 

Ratzenhofer, Gustav, 36, 58, 
212, 421, 496, 645, 648, 775 

Rauber, August, 241, 242, 243, 
276 

Ravage, M. E., 774, 782 


INDEX OF NAMES 


Ray, P. O., 659 

Reclus, E., 1005 

Reed, V. Z., 938 

Regnard, P., 937 

Reich, Emil, 777 

Reinheimer, H., 218 

Reuter, E. B., 567, 770, 776 

Rhodes, J. F., 657 

Rhys, John, 152, 945 

Ribot, Th. A., rrz—13, 127, 147, 
153, 344, 394-97, 427, 430, 
431, 433, 465, 406, 501, 940 

Ribton-Turner, Charles J., 333 

Ricardo, David, 545, 547, 559 

Rice, Stuart A., 498 

Richard, T., 942 

Richards, Caroline C., 305-11 

Richards, I. A., 427 

Richet, Ch., 116, 118, 430 

Richmond, Mary E., 59, 215, 
221, 491, 498 

Rickert, Heinrich, 10, 1005 

Rihbany, Abraham M.., 
781, 782 

Riis, Jacob A., 568, 781 

Riley, I. W., 154 

Riordan, William L., 660 

Ripley, William Z., 264-68, 274, 
533-375-872, 725, 776 

Risley, Herbert H., 
684-88, 728 

Ritchie, David G., 725 

Rivarol, Antoine, 908 

Rivers, W. H. R., 211, 2109, 220, 
723, 729, 738, 746-50, 776, 
857 

Roberts, Peter, 219 


Robertson, John M., 644,640, 
861, 1009 
Roberty, E. de, 728 


Robinson, Charles H., 778 

Robinson, James Harvey, 5, 6, 
408 

Robinson, Louis, 85 

Roepke, Dr. Fritz, 652 

Rogers, Edward S., 566 

Rogers, James B., 943 

Rohde, Erwin, 658 

Romanes, G. J., 227, 379 

Roosevelt, Theodore, 650, 776 

Rosanoff, A. J., 135 

Roscher, W., 726 

Ross, Edward A., 58, 213, 400, 
725, 779, 849, 854, 936 

Rossi, Pasquale, 658, 927, 937: 
939, 940 : 

Rothschild, Alonzo, 855 

Rousiers, Paul de, 731 

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 110, 


142, 223, 231, 234-35, 241, 
278, 807, 850 


774; 


681-84, 


Io2T 


Roussy, G., 650 

Routledge, Mrs. Scoresby, 274 

Rowntree, B. Seebohm, 509, 567, 
568, 569 

Royce, Josiah, 153, 390, 426, 
427, 430, 431, 655 

Rubinow, I. M., 560 

Rudolph, Heinrich, 427 

Rudolphi, K. A., 243 

Rum, Beardsley, 570 

Russell, B. A. W., 566 

Russell, J. H., 727 

Ryckére, Raymond de, 570 


Sabine, Lorenzo, 656 

Sadler, G. T., 854 

Sageret, J., 858 

Saineanu, Lazar, 420 

Saint-Simon, C. H. comte de, 
3,4 

Saleeby, Caleb W., 1007 

Salmon, Lucy M., 859 

Salt, Henry S., 1009 

Salz, Arthur, 729 

Samassa, P., 945 

Sandburg, Carl, 655 

Sands, B., 945 

Santayana, G., 083 

Sapper, Karl, 779 

Sarbah, John M., 860 

Sartorius von Walterhausen, 
August, 727 

Saunders, F. H., 427 

Scalinger, G. M., 940 

Schaefile, Albert, 28, 58 

Schatz, Albert, 564 

Schechter, S., 944 

Schmidt, Caspar, 566, 830 

Schmidt, N., 942 

Schmoller, Gustav, 428, 728 


Schmucker, Samuel M. (ed.), 
334 

Schoell, Frank L., 655 

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 964, 
904-1000 


Schurtz, Heinrich, 723, 729, 947 
Schuster, G., 730 

Schwartz, 85 

Schwittau, G., 652 

Scott, Walter D., 858 
Seager, Henry R., 653 
Secrist, Frank K., 428 
Seebohm, Frederic, 2109, 861 
Seguin, Edward, 276 
Selbie, W. B., 944 
Seligman, E. R. A., 564 
Seligmann, H. J., 655 
Séménoff, E., 728 


I022 


Semple, Ellen C., 268-69, 274, 
289-01, 301-5 

Sergi, G., 1004 

ve Ernest Thompson, 886- 

7 

Seton-Watson, R. W., 945 

Shafer, Robert, toos 

Shaftesbury, Seventh Earl of, 
948 

Shakespeare, William, 238, 230 

Shaler, N.S., 151, 233, 257-50, 
283, 204-08, 330, 337, 654, 
726, 947 

Shambaugh, Berta, 944 

Shand, A. F.,153, 465, 477, 496, 
497, 501 

Sheldon, H. D., 657 

Shepard, W. J., 858 

Sherrington, C. $., 839 

Shinn, Milicent W., 85-88, 153 

Shonle, Ruth, 943 

Short, Wilfrid M., 977-70, 1004 

Sicard, Abbé, 242 

Sidis, Boris, 415-16, 424, 431, 
468 


Sighele, Scipio, 41, 58, 202-7, 
213, 218, 647, 722, 867, 872, 
894, 927, 939 

Simkhovitch, (Mrs.) Mary K., 
331, 335 

Simmel, Georg, 10, 36, 58, 154, 
217, (206, 297. 200. 1922-27, 
331, 332, 341, 342, 348-50, 
350-61, 421, 426, 432, 434, 
500, 553-54, 500, 564, 562-80, 
586-04, 642, 648, 661, 668, 
670, 695-07, 607-703, 703-6, 
700-8, 720, 725, 726, 720, 733, 
938, 947, 1004, 1005 

Simon, Th., 148, 157 

Simons, A. M., 443-44, 502 

Simons, Sarah E., 740-41, 775, 
783 

Simpson, Bertram L., 653 

Sims, George R., 568 

Sims, Newell U., 218, 334 

Sinclair, Upton, 859 

Skeat, Walter W., 275 

Small, Albion W., 36, 58, 198- 
200, 288-89, 332; 348, 421, 
426, 451-54, 454-58, 406, 4909, 
502, 582. 586, 648, 660, 695, 
697, 703, 706, 726, 1005 

Small, Maurice H., 239-43 

Smedes, Susan D., 334, 727 

Smith. Adam, 344, 3097-401, 
AOV, 1430, sAS2, ASS 447s 
449, 4905, 504, 551-52, 554, 
$55, 557, 559; 573 

Smith, Arthur H., 334 

Smith, G. Elliot, 776 

Smith, Henry C., 944 

Smith, J. M. P., 854 


Smith, Lieut. Joseph S., Soo- 
805 
Smith, Lorenzo N., 420 


Smith, Richmond Mayo-, see 
Mayo-Smith, Richmond 


Smith, W. Robertson, 16, 812- 
16, 822-26, 857 

Smyth, C., 655 

Socrates, 108, 143, 646 

Solon, 261 

Sombart, Werner, 317-22, 335, 
568, 651, 933, 947 

Somlé, F., 728 

Sorel, Georges, 648, 816-19, 856, 
959, 1004 

Southard, E. E., 648, 1007 

Spadoni, D., 730 

Spargo, John, 900-15, 949, 952 

Speek, Peter A., 781 

Speer, Robert E., 778 

Spencer, Baldwin, 2206s 


Spencer, Herbert, 24, 25, 26, 27, 
28, 43, 44, 58, 60, 61, 144, 210, 
217, 396, 402, 495, 558, 566, 
787, 805-7, 818, 831, 840, 855, 
889, 947, 950, 963, 966-68, 
IOOI, 1006, 1010 


Spengler, Oswald, 335, 935 

Spiller, G. (ed.), 92-95, 654 

Spranger, Eduard, 153 

Spurzheim, J. F. K., 148 

Squillace, Fausto, 947 

Stalker, James, 943 

Stanhope, Philip Henry (Fourth 
Earl), 276 

Stanley, H. M., 427 

Stanley, L. L., 569 

Stanton, Henry B., 948 

Starbuck, Edwin D., 332, 726 

Starcke, C. N., 220 

Stchoukine, Ivan, 943 

Stead, W. T., 781, 850 

Steffens, Lincoln, 331 

Stein, L., 566 

Steiner, Edward A., 770, 782 

Steiner, Jesse F., 335, 619, 624, 
625, 646, 654, 731, 935 

Steinmetz, Andrew, 656, 657 

Steinmetz, S. R., 651, 656, 860 

Steinthal, H., 21, 217 

Stephen, Sir Leslie, 649 

Stephenson, Gilbert T., 654 

Stern, B., 89, 90, 152, 153 

Stern, (Mrs.) Elizabeth G., 774, 
782 

Stern, W., 155 

Stevens, David H., 850 

Stevens, W. H. S., 566 

Stewart, Dugald, 402, 430 


Stillson, Henry L., 730 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Stimson, Frederic J., 843-46 


Stirner, Max [pseud.], ‘see 
Schmidt, Caspar 


Stoddard, Lothrop, 654, 936, 
950, 963 

Stoker, Bram 731 

Stoll, Otto, 221, 332, 431, 926 £., 
937 

Stone, Alfred H., 634-40, 654 

Stone, B. W., 943 

Stone, Melville E., 859 

Stoughton, John, 948 

Stout, G. F., 344, 391-04, 424 

Stow, John, 219 

Strachey, Lytton, 721, 962 

Straticd, A., o40 

Stratton, George M., 650 

stratz, CarlyHino7 

Strausz, A., 152 

Stromberg, A. von, 942 

Strong, Anna L., 273 

Stubbs, William, 353, 354 

Stumpf, C., 413, 414 

Su, 5. G., 222 

Sugenheim, S., 727 

Sullivan, Anne, 243, 244 

Sully, J., 153, 332, 422, 427 

Sumner, Helen L., 942 


Sumner, William G., 36, 37, 46. 
T00O-103, 146, 151, 283, 293- 
94, 333, 643, 650, 750, 779, 
796, 707, 831, 841-43, 849, 
854, 866, 875, 933, 947, 948, 
983-84 

Swift, Jonathan, 67 

Szende, Paul, 950 


Tabbé, P., 045 

Taft, Donald R., 781 

Taft, Jessie, 941 

Taine, H. A., 144, 403, 498, 907, 
935, 949 

Talbot, Marion, 221 

Talbot, Winthrop, 781 

Tannenbaum, Frank, 49, 936 

Tanner, Amy E., 431 

Tarde, Gabriel, 21, 22, 32, 33, 
39, 37, 41, 58, 202, 204, 213, 
218, 332, 390, 418, 423, 430, 
563, 570, 728, 720, 777, 794 D., 
828, 857, 868, 875, 927, 933, 
939, 947 

Tardieu, E., 725 

Taussig, F. W., 731 

Tawney, G. A., 726, 0390 

Tawney, Richard H., 565 

Tayler, J. Lionel, 936 

Taylor, F. W., 152 

Taylor, Graham R., 219 

Taylor, Thomas, 939 





Tead, Ordway, 152, 404 

Teggart, Frederick J., 1005 

Tegnér, Esaias, 945 

Tenney, E. P., toog 

Terman, L. M., 148, 855 

Theophrastus, 147, 154 

Thiers, Adolphe, 946 

This, G., 275 

Thomas, Edward, 936 

Thomas, N. W., 220, 856 

Thomas, William I., 47, 52, 57, 
38, 59, 147, 149, 151, 154,156, 
215, 222, 240-52, 278, 285, 
332, 335, 438, 442, 488-90, 
497, 501, 563, 579-82, 643, 
654, 655, 657, 718, 728, 720, 
73°, 774, 777, 935; 947, 949 

Thompson, Anstruther, 402 

Thompson, Frank V., 781 

Thompson, Helen B., 156 

Thompson, M. S., 945 

Thompson, Warren S., 567 

Thompson, W. Gilman, 569 

Thomson, J: Arthur, 13, 71, 
120-31, 150, 156, 218, 227, 
512-14, 564, 1007 

Thorndike, Edward L., 68, 71, 
73-75, 80, 81, 95-98, 150, 153, 
155, 157, 189, 190, 424, 430, 
494, 650, 721, 720 

Thorndike, Lynn, 152 

Thoreau, H. D., 220 

Thurston, Henry W., 657 


Thwing, Charles F., and Carrie 
Pe Bi, 222 


Tippenhauer, L. G., 939 

Tocqueville, Alexius de, 851, 
858, 909 

Todd, Arthur J., 220, 1004, 1000 

Toller, Ernst, 950 

Tolstoy, Count Leon, 154, 789 

Tonnies, Ferdinand, 103-5, 857, 


040 
Toops, Herbert A., 568 
Topinard, Paul, 182, 536 
Tosti, Gustavo, 426 
Tower, W. L., 131, 150 
Towns, Charles B., 569 
Toynbee, Arnold, 334, 949 
Tracy, J., 943 
Train, Arthur, 657 
Train, J., 044 
Tredgold, A. F., 155, 276 
Treitschke, Heinrich von, 988 
Trenor, John J. D., 780 
Trent, William P., 850 
Tridon, André, 500 
Triplett, Norman, 649 
Trotter, W., 31, 650. 742-45, 


783 
Tuchmann, J., 856 


INDEX OF NAMES 


Tufts, James H., 152 

Tulp, Dr., 241 

Turner, Charles J. Ribton-, see 
Ribton-Turner, Charles J. 


Turner, Frederick J., 408 


Twain, Mark [pseud.], see 
Clemens, Samuel L. 


Tyau, M. T. Z., 035 
Tylor, Edward B., 10, 
220, 674, 855 


Urban, Wilbur M., 500 


Vaccaro, M. A., 860 

Valentinelli, 388 

Vallaux, Camille, 274, 333 

Van Beneden, 177 

Vandervelde, E., 218, 333, 1007 

Van Hise, Charles R., 566 

Varendonck, J., 273 

Vavin, P., 728 

Veblen, Thorstein, 71, 287, sor, 
644, 721, 720, 936 

Vellay, Charles, 945 

Vendryes, J., 428 

Vierkandt, Alfred, 151, 333, 723, 
720, 776, 854 

Vignes, J.-B.-Maurice, 59 

Vigouroux, A., 411, 412, 037 

Villard, Oswald G., 859 

Villatte, Césare, 429 

Villon, Frangois, 429 

Vincent, George E., 58, 605-10, 
649 

Virchow, Rudolph, 536, 725 

Vischer, F. T., 402 

Vogt, Paul, 731 

Vogt, von Ogden, 938 

Voivenel, Paul, 650 

Voltaire, 890, 986 

Von Kolb, 240 

Vries, Hugo de, 146 


Wace, A. J. B., 945 

Wagener, C., 651 

Wagner, Adolf, 564 

Wagner, J. M., 243 

Waitz, Theodor, 856 

Wald, Lillian, 331 

Walford, Cornelius, 565 

Walker, Charles R., 152 

Walker, Francis A., 490, 507. 
538-43, 505, 572 

Walker, Mary, 831 

Wallace, 554 

Wallace, Alfred R., 555,. 564. 
725, 1006 

Wallace, D. Mackenzie, 333 

Wallas, Graham, 151, 164, 335 


422, 432, 404, 854, 925, 920, 
935 


ESre 


1023 


Wallaschek, Richard, 938 
Walling, W. E., 655 
Wallon, H., 727 

Walter, F., 854 

Ward, E. J., 331, 731 
Ward, James, 775 


Ward, Lester F., 48, 58, 497° 


499, 512, 718, 855, 973-75, 
1007 


Ward, Robert De C., 726 
Ware, J. Redding, 428 
Wargelin, John, 781 
Warming, Eugenius, 
218, 555 
Warne, Frank J., 653 
Warneck, Gustav, 778 
Warren, H. C., 777 
Warren, Josiah, 566 
Washburn, Margaret F., 150 
Washington, Booker T., 155, 
607, 632, 782 
Wasmann, Eric, 171 
Watterson, Henry, 858 
Watson, Elkanah, 530, 542 


Watson, John B., 84, 150, 285, 
482-88, 488 4094 


Watson, R. W. Seton-. see 
Seton-Watson, R. W. 


Waxweiler, E., 218 

Weatherly, U. G., 776 

Webb, Sidney and Beatrice, 
59, 565, 647, 658, 935 

Weber, Adna F., 334 

Weber, John L., 727 

Weber, L., 1006 

Weber, Max, 13, 217, 332 

Webster, Hutton, 274, 730 

Wechsler, Alfred, 947 

Weeks, Arland D., 649 

Wehrhan, K., 652 

Weidensall, C. J., 156 

Weigall, A., 333 

Weismann, August, 146, 227, 
514, 564 

Weller, Charles F., 731 

Wells, H. G., 154, 496, 408, 032, 
1008 

Wendland, Walter, 652 

Wermert, Georg, 656 

Wesley, Charles, 916 

Wesley, John 154, 016 ff. 

Wesnitsch, Milenko R., 656 

West, Arthur Graeme, 652 

Westermarck, Edward, 16, 17, 
61, ISI, 214, 215, 220, 643, 
778, 849, 854 

Weygandt, W., 937 

Whately, Richard, 835 

Wheeler, G. C., 220 


175-82, 


1024 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Wheeler, William M., 169-72, 


182-84, 214, 217, 555 
White, A. K., 153 
White, Andrew D., 650 
White, F. M., 656 
White, W. A., 500, 504-98 
Whitefield, George, 916 ff. 
Whitley, Opal S., 273 
Whiting, Lilian, 940 
Whitley, W. T., 942 


Wigmore, John H., 852, 854, 


860, 861 - 
Wilberforce, William, 948 
Wilbert, Martin I., 569 
Wilde, Oscar, 154 
Willard, Frances E., 942, 940 
Willard, Josiah Flynt, 154 


Willcox, Walter F., 222, roo2—3, 


I009 
Willey, Malcolm M., 498 
Williams, Daniel J., 780 
Williams, J. M., 212, 219, 222 
Willoughby, W. W., 566 
Wilmanns, Karl, 156 

Wilson, D. L., 730 

Wilson, Captain H. A., 640 
Wilson, Warren H., 219 


Windelband, Wilhelm. 8-z0, 
286, 6490 
Windisch, H., 775 


Winship, A. E., 150 

Winston, L. G., 120-22 

Wirth, M., 946 

Wishart, Alfred W., 274 
Wissler, Clark, 59 
Wiston-Glynn, A. W., 046 
Witte, H., 946 

Wittenmyer, (Mrs.) Annie, 898- 


905, 942 
Wolff, C. F., 967 


Wolman, Leo, 653 

Wood, Walter (ed.), 651 
Woodbury, Margaret, 858 
Woodhead, T. W., 181 
Woods, A., 656 

Woods, E. B., 1004 

Woods, Frederick A., 499, 854 


Woods, Robert A. 210, 331, 
335, 567, 610-13, 656 (ed.), 
731, 942 

Woodson, Carter G., 941 


Woodworth, R.S., 156 
Woolbert, C. H., 941 
Woolman, John, 154 
Woolston, Howard B., 570 


Wordsworth, William, 66 
Worms, René, 28, 29, 58, 61, 
426, 651 (ed.), 728, 940 

Wright, Arnold 653 

Wright, Gordon, 886 

Wuensch, R., 9390 

Wundt, Wilhelm, 21, 22, 42r. 
422, 428, 775. 777 

Wuttke, Heinrich, 428 


Yerkes, R. M., 148 
Yonge, Charlotte M., 940 
Yule, Henry, 275 


Zangwill, Israel, 734 

Zeeb, Frieda B., 941 

Zenker, E V., 566 

Ziegler, T., 941 

Zimand, Savel, 942 

Zimmermann, Johann G., 271, 
273 

Zimmern, Alfred E., 660, 720 

Znaniecki, Florian, 47, 52, 57, 
58, 147, 154, 222, 335, 50%, 
739, 774, 935; Too5 2 

Zola, Emile, 144-45, 266, 334 

Zollschan, Ignaz, 152 

Zueblin, Charles, 955-56, 1009 





| 


— 


GENERAL INDEX 


ACCLIMATIZATION: bibliography, 725- 
26; as a form of accommodation, 
666, 671-74, 719 

ACCOMMODATION: chap. x, 663-733; 
bibliography, 725-32; and adapta- 
tion, 663-65; and assimilation, 735- 
36;. and competition, 664-65; and 
compromise, 706-8; and _ conflict, 
634-40, 669-70, 703-8; creates social 
organization, 510; defined, 663-64; 
distinguished from assimilation, 510}; 
facilitated by secondary contacts, 
730-37; in the form of domination 
and submission, 440-41; in the form 
of slavery, 674-77, 677-81; forms of, 
666-67, 671-88, 718-20; and historic 
forms of the organization of society, 
667; investigations and problems, 
718-25; natural issue of conflict, 665; 
and the origin of caste in India, 681— 
84, 684-88; and peace, 703-6; in 
relation to competition, 509-10, in 
relation to conflict, 510, as sub- 
ordination and superordination, 667- 
69. See Subordination and super- 
ordination 

ACCOMMODATION GROUPS, classified, 50, 
721-23 

ACCULTURATION: bibliography, 776-77; 
defined, 138; problems of, 771-72; 
and tradition, 72; transmission of 
cultural elements, 737 

ADAPTATION, and accommodation, 663- 
65 

ADVERTISING, see Publicity 

AGGREGATES, SOCIAL: composed of spa- 
tially separated Units, 926+ .and 
organic aggregates, 25 

AMALGAMATION: bibliography, 776; and 
assimilation, 740-41, 769-71; fusion 
of races by intermarriage, 737-38; 
result of contacts of races, 770. 
See Miscegenation 

AMERICANIZATION: bibliography, 781- 
82; as assimilation, 702-63; and 
immigration, 772-75; as participa- 
tion, 762-63; as a problem of 
assimilation, 739-40, 762-69; Study 
of Methods of, 739, 773-74; surveys 


and studies of, 772-75. See Immi- 


gration 

ANARCHISM: bibliography, 566-67; eco- 
nomic doctrine of, 559 

ANARCHY, of political opinion and 
parties, 2 

ANGER: analyzed, 76-77 

ANIMAL CROWD. See Crowd, animal 

ANIMAL socrETy: bee and ant com- 
munity, 742; prestige in, 809-10 

ANTHROPOLOGY, 10 


APPRECIATION: in relation to imitation, 
344, 401-7; and sense impressions, 
350-57 

ARCHAEOLOGY, aS a new social sci- 
ence, 5 


ArGOT, bibliography, 428-29 


ART: as expressive behavior, 787-88; 
origin in the choral dance, 871 


ASSIMILATION: chap. xi, 734-84; bib- 
liography, 775-82; and accommoda- 
tion, 735-36; and amalgamation, 
740-41, 769-71; Americanization as, 
762-63; based on differences, 735; 
biological aspects of, 737-38, 740-45; 
conceived as a “‘Melting Pot,” 734; 
defined, 756, 761; and democracy, 
734; distinguished from accommoda- 
tion, 510; facilitated by primary 
contacts, 736-37, 739, 761-62; final 
product of social contact, 736-37; 
in the formation of nationalities, 756- 
58; fusion of cultures, 737; of the 
Germans in the Carpathian lands, 
770; instinctive basis of, 742-45}; in- 
vestigations and problems, 769-75; as 
like-mindedness, 735, 741; and media- 
tion of individual differences, 766-69; 
natural history of, 774; in ‘personal 
development, 510; popular concep- 
tions of, 734-45; a problem of second- 
ary groups, 761; a process of pro- 
longed contact, 741; of races, 756- 
62; and racial differences, 769-70; 
sociology of, 735-37. See Amalgama- 
tion, Americanization, Cultures, con- 
flict’ and fusion of, Denationaliza- 
tion. 


1025 


1026 


ATTENTION, in relation to imitation, 
344, 391-94 

ATTITUDES: bibliography, soo-501; as 
behavior patterns, 439-42; complexes 
of, 57; polar conception of, 441-42; 
as the social element, 438-39; as 
social forces, 467-78; in subordina- 
tion and superordination, 692-95; 
and wishes, 442-43; wishes as com- 
ponents of, 439 


BALKED DISPOSITION, a result of sec- 
ondary contacts, 287 

BEHAVIOR: defined, 187-88; expressive 
and positive, 787-88 

BEHAVIOR, COLLECTIVE, 
behavior 

BEHAVIOR PATTERNS, and culture, 72 

BLUSHING, communication by, 365-70 

BOLSHEVISM, 909-15 

BUREAU OF MUNICIPAL RESEARCH, of 
New York City, 46, 315 


See Collective 


CARNEGIE REPORT UPON MEDICAL 
EDUCATION, 315 

CaAsTE: bibliography, 728; as an accom- 
modation of conflict, 584; defined, 
205-6; a form of accommodation 
group, 50; interpreted by super- 
ordination and subordination, 684- 
88; its origin in India, 681-84; and 
the limitation of free competition, 
623-25; study of, 722-23 

CATEGORIC CONTACTS. See Sympathetic 
contacts 

CEREMONY: bibliography, 855-56; as 
expressive behavior, 787-88; funda- 
mental form of social control, 787 

CHARACTER: defined, 84; inherited or 
acquired, 130-31; and instinct, 192- 
95; as the organization of the wishes 
of the person, 490; related to custom, 
194-95 

CIRCLE, vicious. See Vicious circle 

CIRCULAR REACTION. See Reaction, 
circular 

Ciry: an area of secondary contacts, 
285-87; aversion, a protection of the 
person in the,'584-85; and the evo- 
lution of individual types, 712-14; 
growth of, 533-34; physical human 
type of, 534-37; planning, studies of, 
328-29; studies of, 331 

CIVILIZATION: and historical continu- 
ity, 298-301; life of, 956-57; and 


“©O0LLECTIVE BEHAVIOR: 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


mobility, 303-5; a part of nature, 3; 
an organization to realize wishes, 958; 
and permanent settlement, 528-29 
CLASS CONSCIOUSNESS, 40 
CLASSES, SocraL: bibliography, 728-205 
defined, 206-7; as a form of accom- 
modation groups, 50; patterns of life 
of, 46; separated by isolation, 230; 
study of, 722 
CLEVER HAns, case of, 412-15 
chap. xiti, 
865-952; bibliography, 58, 934-50; 
defined, 865; investigations and prob- 
lems, 924-34; and the origin of 
concerted activity, 32; and social 
contro], 785-86; and social unrest, 
866-67. See Crowd, Herd, Mass 
movements, Public 


COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS: 
197; of society, 28 


COLLECTIVE FEELING, and collective 
thinking, 17 

COLLECTIVE MIND, and social control, 
36-43 

COLLECTIVE REPRESENTATION: applica- 
tion of Durkheim’s conception - of, 
18; contrasted with sensation, 195; 
in the crowd, 894-95; defined, 166- 
67, 197-98; and intellectual life, 195- 
98; and public opinion, 38 _ 


defined, 


CoLLEecTIvisM: and the division of 
labor, 718 
CoLoONIzATION: bibliography, 725-26; 


a form of accommodation, 719; and 
mobility, 302 

COMMON PURPOSE, as ideal, wish, and 
obligation, 33 

CoMMUNISM, economic doctrine of, 559 


COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION:  bibliog- 
raphy, 731; study of, 724-25 

ComMUNICATION: bibliography, 275-76, 
427-29; and art, 37; basis of partici- 
pation in community life, 763-66; 
basis of society, 185-87; basis of 
world-society, 343; by blushing, 


365-70; concept, the medium of, 
379-81; extension of, by human 
invention, .343, 385-89; a form of 
social interaction, 36; and _ inter- 


stimulation, 37; by laughing, 370-75; 
in the lower animals, 375-79; as the 
medium of social interaction, 341-43; 
natural fare of, 356-75; newspaper 





GENERAL INDEX 1027 


as medium of, 316-17; rdle of the 
book in, 343; study of, 421-23; 
through the expression of the emo- 
tions, 342, 361-75; through language 
and ideas, 375-89; through the 
senses, 342, 356-61; writing as a form 
of, 381-84. See Language, News- 
paper, Publicity 

CommunitiEs: bibliography, 58-59, 219; 
animal, 26; defined, 163; local and 
territorial, 50; plant, bibliography, 
217-18; plant, organization of, 26, 
Pee t,26-27-" “plant, «unity “of, 
200-1; rural and urban, 56; scale 
for grading, 1002 n.; studies of, 211- 
12, 327-20 

COMMUNITY, as a constellation of social 
forces, 436, 493 

COMPETITION: chap. viii, 504-73; bib- 
liography, 564-70; and accommoda- 
tion, 509-10, 664-65; biological, 554- 
55; changing forms of, 546-51; 
and commercial organization, 543-45; 
conscious, as conflict, 574, 576, 579- 
94; and control, 508-9; of cultural 
languages, 754-56, 771; and the 
defectives, the dependents, and the 
delinquents, 560-64; destroys isola- 
tion, 232; economic, 545-55, 555-59} 
and the economic equilibrium, 504-5, 
510; the elementary process of inter- 
action, 506-10; elimination of, and 
caste, 623-25; and freedom, 505-6, 
508, 512, 552-53; history of theories 
of, 557-59} and human ecology, 5505 
and the “inner enemies,” 560-64; 
investigations and problems, 5547 64, 
and laissez faire, 555-59; the ‘“‘life of 
trade,” 504; makes for progress, 988; 
makes for specialization and organi- 
zation, 518-21; and man as an adap- 
tive mechanism, 521-25; and metro- 
politan economy, 343-45; and mobil- 
ity, 512; most severe between mem- 
bers of the same species, 516; and 
the natural harmony of individual 
interests, 551-52; natural history of, 
556-57; and natural selection, 514- 
18; opposed to sentiment, 508; 
personal, as conflict, 574, 575-76; 
personal, and the evolution of indi- 
vidual types, 712-14; personal, and 
social selection, 708-12; and plant 
migration, 525-27; popular concep- 
tion of, 504-6; and race suicide, 
538-43; restricted by custom, tradi- 


tion, and law, 512; and segregation, 
525-43; and social contact, 280-81; 
and social control, 562-64; and social 
solidarity, 670-71, 708-18; and the 
standard of living, 542-43; and 
status, 540-42, 670-71, 708-18; and 
the struggle for existence, 504, 511, 
5i2-T4 5 t4-18,. 521-25.) 540-515 
unfair, 505. See Competitive co- 
operation 


COMPETITIVE CO-OPERATION: Adam 
Smith’s conception of an “invisible 
hand,” 504, 552; in the ant com- 
munity, 511-12; and competition, 
507; complementary association, 
181-89; and human ecology, 550; 
and participation, 767-68; in the 
plant community, 165 

COMPREHENSION, and sense impressions, 
357-61 

CoMPROMISE, a form of accommodation, 
706-8 

Concepts: as collective representa- 
tions, 195-97; as medium of com- 
munication, 379-81 


Conpuct: as self-conscious behavior, 
190-91 

ConFLicT: chap. ix, 574-662; bibliog- 
raphy, 648-60; and accommodation, 
510, 634-40, 665, 669-70, 703-8; of 
beliefs, and the origin of sects, 614- 
15; concept of, 574-76; as conscious 
competition, 281, 574, 576, 579-94; 
cultural, and the organization of 
sects, 613-19; cultural, and sex 
differences, 618-19; cultural, and 
social organization, 577-78; deter- 
mines the status of the person in 
society, 574-75, 576; emotional, 
475-76; and fusion.of cultures, 738- 
39, 740-62, 771-72; and fusion of 
cultures and social unity, 202; indus- 
trial, bibliography, 652-53; of im- 
personal ideals, 592-94; instinctive 
interest in, 579-82; investigations 
and problems, 641-48; natural his- 
tory of, 579-82; and origin of law, 
850-52; as personal competition, 
575-76; and the political order, 510; 
psychology and sociology of, 641-42: 
race, and social contact, 619-26; 
and race consciousness, 626-34; 
racial, 619-40; and the rise of 
nationalities, 631-34; and repression, 
601-2; and social control, 607-8; as 


1028 


ConFLict—continued 
a struggle for status, 574, 578-79; as 
a type of social interaction, 582-86; 
types of, 642-44, 586-94; and the 
unification of personality, 583-84. 
See Feud, Litigation, Mental conflict, 
Race conflicts, Rivalry, War 


CoNFLICT GROUPS, Classified, 50 


CONSCIENCE: as an inward feeling, 106; 
a manifestation of the collective 
mind, 33; a peculiar possession of the 
gregarious animals, 31 


CoNSCIOUS, 41 


CoNSCIOUSNESS: national and racial, 
40-41; and progress, 990-94 

CONSCIOUSNESS, SOCIAL: bibliography, 
426; of the community, 48; exist- 
ence of, 28; as mind of the group, 41; 
in the person, 29; and the social 
organism, 39 


ConsENSUS: defined, 166; social, and 
solidarity, 24; social, closer than the 
vital, 25; as society, 163; versus 
co-operation, 186 

ConTACT, maritime, and geographical, 
260-64 

CONTACTS, PRIMARY: bibliography, 333- 
34; and absolute standards, 285-86; 
defined, 284, 311; distinguished from 
secondary contacts, 284-87, 305-27; 
facilitate assimilation, 736-37, 739; 
of intimacy and acquaintanceship, 
284-85; related to concrete experi- 
ence, 286; and sentimental atti- 
tudes, 319-20; studies of, 329-31; 
in village life in America, 305-11 

CONTACTS, SECONDARY: bibliography, 
334-35; and abstract relations, 325; 
accommodation facilitated by, 736- 

7; and capitalism, 317-22; a cause 
of the balked disposition, 287; char- 
acteristic of city life, 285-87, 311-15; 
conventional, formal, and impersonal, 
56; defined, 284; distinguished from 
primary contacts, 284-87, 305-27; 
laissez faire in, 758; modern society 
based on, 286-87; publicity as a form 
of, 315-17; and the problems of 
social work, 287; and rational atti- 
tudes, 317-22; sociological signifi- 
cance of the stranger, 286, 322-27; 
studies of, 331 


CONTACTS, SOCIAL: chap. 2, 280-338; 
bibliography, 332-35; in assimilation, 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


736-37; avoidance of, 292-93, 330} 
defined, 329; desire for, 291-92; 
distinguished from physical con- 
tacts, 282; economic conception of, 
280-81; extension through the de- 
vices of communication, 280-81; as 
the first stage of social interaction, 
280,282; frontiers of, 288-89; inten- 
sity of, 282-83; investigations and 
problems of, 327-31; land as a basis 
for, 282, 289-91; preliminary notions 
of, 280-81; and progress, 988-89; 
and race conflict, 619-26; and racial 
intermixture, 770; and social forces, 
36; sociological concept of, 281-82; 
spatial conception of, 282; sym- 
pathetic versus categoric, 294-98; in 
the transmission of cultural objects, 
746. See Communication; Contacts, 
primary; Contacts, secondary; Con- 
tinuity; Interaction, social; Mobil- 
ity; Touch; We-group and others- 
group 

CONTAGION, SOCIAL: bibliography, 937- 
38; and collective behavior, 874-76, 
878-81; in fashion, 874-75; and 
psychic epidemics, 926-27 

Continuity: through blood-relation- 
ship, 351-52; by continuance of 
locality, 350; through group honor, 
355-56; through the hereditary 
principle, 353-54; historical, 283-84, 
298-301; through leadership, 353-54; 
through material symbols, 354-55; 
through membership in the group, 
352-53; through specialized organs, 
356 

ContTRoL: aim of sociology, 330; 
defined, 184; the fundamental social 
fact, 34; loss of, and unrest, 766-67. 
See Control, social 


' CONTROL, SOCIAL: chap. xii, 785-864; 


bibliography, 854-62; absolute in 
primary groups, 285-86, 305-11; 
through advertising, 830; in the 
animal “‘crowd,”’ 788-90; as an arte- 
fact, 29; central problem of society, 
42; and collective behavior, 785-86; 
and the collective mind, 36-43; and 
competition, 508-9, 562-64; and 
conflict, 607-8; and corporate action, 
27; in the crowd, 790-91; in the 
crowd and the public, 800-805; de- 
fined, 785-87; and definitions of the 
situation, 764-65; elementary forms 





GENERAL INDEX 


of, 788-91; 800-816, 849-50; and 
human nature, 785-87, 848-49; and 
the individual, 52; investigations 
and problems, 848-53; through 
laughter, 373-75; mechanisms of, 
29; through news, 834-37; through 
opinion, 193-94; organization of, 29; 
through prestige, 807-11, 811-12; 
through propaganda, 837-41; in the 


public, 791-96, 800-805; through 
public opinion in cities, 316-17; 
resting on consent, 29; with the 


savage, 90; and schools of thought, 
27-35; and social problems, 785; 
as taming, 165. See Ceremony, 
Law, Leadership, Institutions, Mores, 
Myth, Taboo 


CONVERSION: bibliography, 726-27; 
as the mutation of attitudes and 
wishes, 669; religious, and the social 
group, 48 

CO-OPERATION: of the machine type, 
186. See Collective behavior, Cor- 
porate action, 

CORPORATE ACTION: problem of, 30; 
and social consciousness, 41-42; 
and social control, 27; as society, 165. 
See Collective behavior 


Crime, from the point of view of the 
primary group, 48, 49. See Defec- 
tives, dependents, and delinquents 

CRISES, ECONOMIC: bibliography, 946-47 

Crisis, and public opinion, 793, 794 

Crown: bibliography, 930; animal, 
788-89, 876, 881-87; characteristics 
of, 890-93; Classified, 202-203, con- 
trol in the, 790-91, 800-805; defined, 
868, 893-95; excitement of, in mass 
movements, 895-98; homogeneous 
and heterogeneous, 202-203; ‘“‘in 
being,” 33; milling in, 869; organ- 
ized, 33, 34; “psychological,” 34, 
876-77, 887-93; psychology of, 5; 
and the public, 867-70; and unre- 
flective action, 798-99 

CULTURAL DIFFERENCES, as caused by 
isolation, 229 

CULTURAL PROCESS: the function of, 
52-54; and isolation, 23: 

CULTURAL RESEMBLANCES, interpreta- 
tion of, 19 

CULTURAL TRAITS: bibliography, 151- 
52; independently created, 20; trans- 
mission of, 21 


1029 


CULTURE: and behavior patterns, 72; 
materials, why diffused, 20; Roman, 
extension of in Gaul, 751-54 


CULTURES: analysis of blended, 746- 
50; comparative study of, 18; con- 
flict and fusion of, 738-39; 746-62; 
771-72; bibliography, 776-79; fusions 
of, nature of the process, 20 

Custom: as the general will, 105; and 
law, 799. See Mores 


DANcE: bibliography, 938-39; and 
corporate action, 870-71 ' 

DANCING MANIA OF THE MIppieE AGEs: 
875, 879-81 

DEFECTIVES, DEPENDENTS, AND DELIN- 
QUENTS: bibliography, 150, 567-70; 
and competition, 560-63; isolated 
groups, 232-33, 254-57, 271; and 
progress, 954-55; solution of prob- 
lems of, 563-64 

DEFINITION OF THE SITUATION, 764-65 


DENATIONALIZATION: bibliography, 777- 
78; implies coercion, 740-41; as 
negative assimilation, 734; in the 
Roman conquest of Gaul, 751-54 

DENOMINATIONS: as accommodation 
groups, 50, 722 distinguished from 
sects, 873 

DESIRES: in relation to interests, 456; 
as social forces, 437-38, 453-54, 455, 
497 

DriAtEcts: bibliography, 275-76, 428- 
29; caused by isolation, 271; of 
isolated groups, 423; lingua franca, 
752-54 

DISCOURSE, UNIVERSES OF. 
verses of discourse 

Discussion, bibliography, 649-50 

DISORGANIZATION, SOCIAL: bibli- 
ography, 934-35; and change, 55; 
disintegrating influences of city life, 
312-13; and emancipation of the 
individual, 867 

DIVISION OF LABOR: and collectivism, 
718; and co-operation, 42; and indi- 
vidualism, 718; and the moral code, 
717-18; physiological, 26; in slavery, 
677; and social solidarity, 714-18; 
and social types, 713-14 


Docma, as based upon ritual and myth, 
822-26 


DOMESDAY SURVEY, 436 


See Uni- 


1030 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


DOMESTICATION: 
animals, 172-75 

DoMINATION. See Subordination and 
superordination 


DuEL: bibliography, 656 


defined, 165; of 


Ecests, defined, 525 


ECONOMIC COMPETITION. 
tition 

ECONOMIC CONFLICT GROUPS:  bibli- 
ography, 658-59 ; 

ECONOMIC CRISES. See Crises, eco- 
nomic 

ECONOMIC MAN, as an abstraction to 
explain behavior, 495-96 

ECONOMIC PROCESS, and _ personal 
values, 53-54 

Economics: conception of society of, 
280-81; and the economic process, 
53-54; use of social forces in, 
494-96. See Competition 

EpucATION: device of social control, 
339; purpose of, 833 

EmorTIons, expressions of: bibliography, 
427; study of, 421-22 

EPIDEMICS, PSYCHIC OR SOCIAL. See 
Contagion, social 

EQUILIBRIUM, a form of accommoda- 
tion, 667, 719 

ESPRIT DE CORPS: as affective morale, 
209; defined, 166; in relation to 
isolation, 229-30 


See Compe- 


ETHNOLOGY: and history,.18; as a 
social science, 5 
Evcenics: bibliography, 150, 1007; 


and biological inheritance, 136; as 
human domestication, 165; and 
progress, 969-73, 979-83; research 
in, 146 
EVOLUTION, SOCIAL: 
bibliography, 1006 


and progress, 


Famity: bibliography, 219-23; govern- 
ment of, 46; outline for sociological 
study, 216; a primary group, 56; as 
a social group, 50; study of, 213-16 

FasHIon: bibliography, 947-48; a form 
of imitation, 390; as social conta- 
gion, 874-75; and social control, 
831-32; study of, 933-34 

FEAR: not a single instinct, 77-78 

IF'EEBLE-MINDEDNESS. See Defectives, 
dependents, and delinquents 


FERAL MEN: bibliography, 276; result 
of isolation, 239-43, 271-72 

FERMENTATION, SOCIAL, 34 

Feup: bibliography, 655-56; as a form 
of conflict, 588-90; as the personal 
settlement of disputes, 581 


FrIeLpD StupiEs: bibliography, 59 
FLock, 881-83 


FOLK PSYCHOLOGY: aim of, 21; its 
origin, 20; and sociology, 5 


FOLKLORE, as a social science, 5 


FoLKWAYS: not creations of human 
purpose, ror. See Customs, Mores 


FORCES, SOCIAL: chap. vit, 435-504; 
bibliography, 498-501; in American 
history, 443-44; attitudes as, 437-42; 
407-78; desires as, 437-38, 453-54, 
497; gossip as, 452; in history, 436- 
37, 493-04} history of the concept of, 
436-37; idea-forces as, 461-64; and 
interaction, 451-54; interests as, 

454-58, 458-62, 494-96; investiga- 
tions and problems of, 491-97; organ- 
ized in public opinion, 35; popular 
notions of, 491-93; in public opinion 
in England, 445-51; social pressures 
as, 458-61; .and the social survey, 
436; in social work, 435-37; 491-93; 
sources of the notion of, 435-36; 
tendencies as, 444-45; trends as, 
436-37. See Attitudes, Desires, In- 
terests, Sentiments, and Wishes 

FREEDOM: bibliography, 564-65; and 
competition, 505-6, 508, 552-53; 
and laissez faire, 561-62; as the 
liberty to move, 323; of thought and 
speech, 643-44 

FRENCH REVOLUTION, 905-9 


GALTON LABORATORY FOR NanOne 
EUGENICS, 146, 561 


GAMES AND GAMBLING: 
656-57; study of, 640 


Gancs: bibliography, 657; as a form of 
conflict groups, 50, 722, 870; develop 


bibliography, 


into clubs, 611-12; permanent form | 


of crowd that acts, 872; and political 
organization, 610-13 


GENERAL EDUCATION BOARD, 315 
GENIUS, among civilized peoples, 95 


GrEoGRAPHY: and history, 8; as a 
science, 7 


ii a 


GENERAL INDEX 


GOVERNMENT, a technical science, 1. 
See Politics 


GREGARIOUSNESS, regarded as an in- 
stinct, 30, 742-45 

GROUP, PRIMARY, defined, 50, 56 

GROUP SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS, 51 


GROUPS, SECONDARY: in relation to 
conflict and accommodation, 50. 
See Contacts, secondary 


Groups, SOcIAL: bibliography, 218-23, 
274, 333-35; accommodation type 
of, 721-23; centers of new ideas, 21; 
and character, 57; classification of, 
50, 200-205, 722; concept of, 47; co- 
operation in, 22; defined, 45, 198-200; 
determines types’ of personality, 
606-7; investigations of, 210-16, 
270-71; natural, 30; organization 
and structure of, 51; persistence of, 

“349-56; a real corporate existence, 
33; rivalry of, 605-10; and social 
problems, 50; study of, 646-48; sub- 
ordination to, 699-702; types of, 
A7—-51; unit of classification, 163-64; 
unit of investigation, 212-13; unity 
of, 200-2. See Groups, primary, 
Groups, secondary, Contacts, pri- 
mary, Contacts, secondary, also 
the names of specific groups 


GROWTH, SOCIAL, 26 


Hasit, as the individual will, 103-5 
Herp: behavior of, 30; contagion in, 
885-86; homogeneity of, 31; instinct 


of the, 32, 742-45, 884-86; milling 


in the, 788-90; simplest type of social 
group, 30 

HEREDITY AND EUGENICS: bibliography, 
150. See Eugenics 

HERITAGES, SOCIAL: complex of stimuli, 
72; of the immigrant, 765; investiga- 
tion of, 51; transmission of, 72 

HINTERLAND, an integral part of metro- 
politan unit, 543-44 

HISTORICAL FACT, 7 

HISTORICAL PROCESS, 
969-73 

HISTORICAL RACES: as products of iso- 
lation, 257-60 

History: a catalogue of facts, 14; 
defined by Karl Pearson, 14; and 
geography, 15; as group memory, 
51-52; mother science of all the 


and progress, 


1031 


social sciences, 42, 43; as a natural 
science, 23; and the natural sciences, 
6; scientific, 4, 14; and sociology, 5, 
I-12; 10-24: 

HOMOGENEITY: and common purpose, 
32; and like-mindedness, 32 

Hovusine, and zoning studies, 328-29 

HUMAN BEINGS, as artificial products, 
98 

HUMAN ECOLOGY, and competition, 558 

HUMAN NATURE: chap. ti, 64-158; 
bibliography, 151-56; adaptability 
of, 98-100; Aristotle’s conception of, 
143; defined, 65-68; described in 
literature, 144-46; description and 
explanation of, 82; founded on 
instincts, 77-78; and the four 
wishes, 442-43; Hobbes’s conception, 
143; human interest in, 64-65; 
investigations and problems, 142-49; 
and law, 12-16; Machiavelli’s con- 
ception, 143; and the mores, 100-3; 
political conceptions, 143-44; prob- 
lems of, 47; product of group life, 67; 
product of social intercourse, 47; 
product of society, 161; and progress, 
954, 957-58, 964-65, 983-1000; reli- 
gious conceptions of, 142; and social 
control, 785-87; 848-49; and social 
life, 69; Spencer’s conception, 144; 
and war, 594-98 

HUMAN NATURE AND INDUSTRY: Dibliog- 
raphy, 152 

HUMAN SOCIETY: contrasted with ani- 
mal societies, 201-2; and social life, 
184-87 

Hypnotism: a form of dissociation of 
memory, 472; post-hypnotic sug- 
gestion, 477. See Suggestion 


IDEA-FORCES, 461-64. See Sentiment, 
Wishes 


IMITATION: bibliography, 430;  ac- 
tive side of sympathy, 394-95; 
and appropriation of knowledge, 
403-4; and art, 4o1-7;° circular 
reaction, 390-91; communication 
by, 72; defined, 344, 390-91, 391-04; 
in emotional communcation, 404-7; 
and fashion, 390; and the imita- 
tive process, 392-93; internal, 404-5; 
and like-mindedness, 33; as a pro- 
cess of learning, 344, 393-94; and rap- 
port, 344; in relation to attention 


1032 


ImMITATION—continued 
and interest, 344, 391-94; in rela- 
tion to trial and error, 344-45; 
and the social inheritance, 390-91; 
as the social process, 21; study of, 
423-24; and suggestivn, differen- 
tiated, 346; and. suggestion, inner 
relation between, 688-89; *and the 
transmission of tradition, 391-92. .. 

IMMIGRATION: bibliography, . 7797803 
and Americanization, 772-75; Yin 
volves accommodation, 719. See 
Migration 

IMMIGRATION COMMISSION, REPORT OF, 
772-73 

INBORN CAPACITIES, defined, 73-74 

INDIVIDUAL: bibliography, 59, 149-50, 
155-56; an abstraction, 24; isolated, 
55; and person, 55; subordination to, 
697-98 

INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES: bibliography, 
155-56, 276; assimilation and the 
mediation of, 766-69; cause of isola- 


tion, 228-29; described, 95-97; 
developed by city life, 313-15; 
measurement of, 148-49; in primi- 


tive and civilized man, 93; and sex 
differences, 90 

INDIVIDUAL REPRESENTATION, 37,105 

INDIVIDUALISM, and the division of 
labor, 718 

INDUSTRIAL ORGANIZATION: _ bibliog- 
raphy, 565-66; impersonality of, 287 


In-cRoup. See We-group 

INHERITANCE, BIOLOGICAL:  Obibliog- 
raphy, 150 

INHERITANCE, SOCIAL: through imi- 


tation, 390-91. See Heritages, social 


“INNER ENEMIES.” See Defectives, 
dependents, and delinquents. 


INSPIRATION, and public sentiment, 


34; 35 

Instincts: bibliography, 150, 155-56; 
and character, 192-95; in  con- 
flict, 576-77, 579-82; defined, 73-74; 
gregarious, 742-45; in the human 
baby, 85-88; instinctive movements 
as race movements, 85; no separate, 
75-79; physiological bases of assimi- 
lation, 742-45. See Human nature, 
Original nature 


INSTITUTIONS: defined, 796-97, 841; 
investigations of, 51; and law, 797- 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


99; and mass movements, 915-24; 
and mores, 841-43; natural history 
of, 16; and sects, 872-74; and social 
control, 796-99, 841-48, 851-53 
INTERACTION, SOCIAL: chap. vi, 339- 
434; bibliography, 426-31; in com- 
munication, 341-43, 356-89; concept 
of, 339-41; in conflict, 582-86; de- 
fines the group in time and space, 341, 
348-56; history of the concept, 420- 
21; imitation as a mechanistic form 
of, 344, 390-407; investigations and 
problems, 420-24; language, science, 
religion, public opinion, and law 
products of, 37; and mobility, 341; 
Ormond’s analysis, 340; as a princi- 
pal fundamental to all the natural 
sciences, 341-42, 346-48; in second- 
ary confavis in the large city, 360- 
61; and social forces, 451-54; and 
social process, 36, 421; and sugges- 
tion, 345-56, 408-12; visual, 356-61. 
See Communication, Imitation, Pro- 
cess, social, Suggestion, and Sym- 


pathy 

INTEREST: in relation to imitation, 
344, 391-94 

INTERESTS: bibliography, 499-500; 
classification of, 456-57; defined, 


456; and desires, 456; instincts and 
sentiments, 30; natural harmony of, 


551-523 as social forces, 454-58, 
458-61 
Intmmacy: bibliography, 332-33; and 


the desire for response, 329-30; 
of primary contact, 284-85 
INVENTION: bibliography, 431; as varia- 
tion, 424-25; in relation to social 
change and social control, 425. See 
Leadership, Progress, Social control 

INVERSION, of impulses and sentiments, 
283, 292, 329 

INVESTIGATION, and research, 45 

ISOLATION: chap. iv, 226-79; bibliog- 
raphy, 273-76; in anthropogeog- 
raphy, 226, 269-70; barrier to in- 
vasion in plant communities, 526-27; 
in biology, 227-28, 270; cause of 
cultural differences, 229; cause of 
dialects, 271; cause of mental 
retardation, 231, 239-52; cause 
of national individuality, 233, 257- 
69; cause of originality, 237-39; 
cause of personal individuality, 233- 
39, 271-73; cause of race prejudice, 


orm 





GENERAL INDEX 


250-52; cause of the rural mind, 
247-49; circle of, 232; destroyed by 
competition, 232; disappearance of, 
866-67; effect upon social groups, 
270-71; feral men, 239-43; geo- 
graphical, and maritime contact, 
260-64; investigations and problems 
of, 269-73; isolated groups, 270-71; 
mental effects of, 245-47; and prayer, 
235-37; and the processes of com- 
petition, selection and segregation, 
232-33; product of physical and 
mental differences, 228-29; result of 
segregation, 254-57; and_ secrecy, 
230; and segregation, 228-30; and 
solidarity, 628-29; solitude and 
society, 243-45; subtler effects of, 


249-52 


Jew: product of isolation, 271; racial 
temperament, 139-40; as the socio- 
logical stranger, 318-19, 323 


KLONDIKE RUSH, 895-08 


LABOR ORGANIZATIONS: as_ conflict 


groups, 50 
LABORING CLASS, psychology of, 40 
LAISSEZ FAIRE: bibliography, 564-65; 

and competition, 554-58; and indi- 

vidual freedom, 560-61; in secondary 

fontacts, 758 
LANGUAGE: bibliography, 274-76, 428- 

29, 945-46; as condition of American- 

ization, 765-66; gesture, 

and participation, 763-66. See Com- 
unication, Speech community 

ANGUAGE GROUPS AND NATIONALITIES, 

fo-si 
LANGUAGE REVIVAL AND NATIONAL- 


1sM: bibliography, 945-46; study of, 
930-32 
LANGUAGES: comparative study of, 


and sociology, 5, 22; cultural, compe- 
tition of, 754-56, 771 

LAUGHTER: communcation by, 370-75; 
essays upon, 422; in social control, 
373-75; and sympathy, 370-73, 401 

Law: bibliography, 860-62; based on 
custom and mores, 799, 843-46; com- 
mon and statute, 842-46; cempara- 
tive study of, 5; and conscience, to5— 
11; and creation of law-making 
opinion, 451; formation of, 16; 
and the general will, tos—11; and 
human nature, 12-10; as influenced 


362-64; ° 


1033 


by public opinion, 445-51; and 
institutions, 797-99; and legal insti- 
tutions, 851-53; moral, 13; munici- 
pal, 13; natural, defined, 11; natural, 
distinguished from other forms, 12; 
and public opinion, 446-51; and reli- 
gion, 853; result of like- mindedness, 
717; social, as an hypothesis, 12; 
“unwritten,” 643 

Laws OF NATURE, 13 

LAWS OF PROGRESS, I5 

LAWS OF SOCIAL EVOLUTION, 18 

LEADERSHIP: bibliography, 854-55; in 
the flock, 881-83; and group con- 
tinuity, 353-54; interpreted by 
subordination and _ superordination, 
695-97, 697-98; in Methodism, 916- 
17; study’ of; 721; 849=s50. See 
Collective behavior, Invention, Social 
control, Suggestfon, Subordination 
and superordination 

LEGEND: as a form of social control, 
819-22; growth of, 819-22; in the 
growth of Methodism, 922-23. See 
Myth 

LEGISLATION. See Law 

LIKE-MINDEDNESS: and corporate ac- 
tion, 42; as an explanation of 


social behavior, 32-33; formal, in 
assimilation, 757-60; in a panic, 
33734.) Ui 


LINGUA FRANCA, 752-54 

LITERATURE, and the science of human 
nature, 144-46 

LITIGATION, as a form of conflict, 
92 

LYNCHING: btbliography, 655 


590- 


MAN: an adaptive mechanism, 521- 
25; economic, 495-96; the fighting 
animal, 600-3; the natural, 85-88; 
as a person, 10; a political animal, 
10, 32; primitive and _ civilized, 
sensory discrimination in, 93. See 
Human nature, Individual, Person, 
Personality 


Markets: bibliography, 565; and the 
origin of competition, 556-57 

MASS MOVEMENTS: bibliography, 941- 
42; crowd excitements and, 895-08; 
and institutions, 915-24; and mores; 
898-905; and progress, 54; and 
revolution, 905-15; study of, oa 
32; types “of, 895-924 


1034 


Memory: associative, Loeb’s definition, 
467; role of, in the control of original 
nature, 468-71 


MENTAL CONFLICT: bibliography, 648- 
49; and the disorganization of 
personality, 638; its function in 
individual and group action, 578; 
and sublimation, 669 


MENTAL DIFFERENCES. 
differences 


METHODISM, 915-24 
METROPOLITAN ECONOMY, defined, 543 


MicRATION: classified into internal 
and foreign, 530-32; and mobility, 
301-5; in the plant community, 
525-27; and segregation, 528-32. 
See Immigration, Mobility 


MILLING, in the herd, 788-90 
MIND, COLLECTIVE, 887, 889-90 


MISCEGENATION: and the mores, 53. 
See Amalgamation 


Missions: bibliography, 778-79; and 
the conflict and fusion of cultures, 
771; and social transmission, 202 


Mosiuty: bibliography, 333; and 
communication, 284; and competi- 
tion, 512; contrasted with continu- 
ity, 286; defined, 283-84; facilitated 
by city life, 313-14; and instability 
of natural races, 300-1; of the migra- 
tory worker, 912-13; and the move- 
ment of the peoples, 301-5; and news, 


See Individual 


284; and social interaction, 341; 
and the stranger, 323-24. See 
Communication, Contacts, social, 
Migration 


MOBILIZATION, of the individual man, 
313 

MoraAteE: defined, 166; and isolation, 
229-30; of social groups, 207-9. 
See Esprit de corps, Collective repre- 
sentation, Consciousness, social 

Mores: bibliography, 151-52; as the 
basis of social control, 786-87; and 
conduct, 191; and human nature, 
100-103; influence of, 30; and insti- 
tutions, 841-43; and mass move- 
ments, 898-905; and miscegenation, 
53; not subject of discussion, 52-53; 
and progress, 983-84; and public 
opinion, differentiated, 832 

MovEMENTS. See Mass movements 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


Music: bibliography, 938-30 

MYTHOLOGY, comparative study of, 5 

Mytus: bibliography, 856-57; as a 
form of social control, 816-19; prog- 
ress as a, 958-62; relation to ritual 
and dogma, 822-26; revolutionary, 
817-19, 909, 911; and socialism, 
818-19. See Legend 


NATIONAL DEVELOPMENT, as affected 
by natural or vicinal location, 268-69 


NATIONAL DIFFERENCES, explained by 
isolation, 264-68 

NATIONALITIES: bibliography, 274-75, 
660; assimilation in the formation of, 
756-58; conflict groups, 50, 628-31; 
defined, 645; and nations, 723; and 
patterns of life, 46; and racial tem- 
perament, 138-42. See Denationali- 


zation, Nationalization, Language 
revivals 
NATIONALIZATION: bibliography, 777- 
78 


NATURAL HISTORY: and natural sci- 
ence, 16; of a social institution, 16 


NATURAL SCIENCE: defined, 12; and 
history, 8 


NATURALIZATION, SOCIAL: as a form 
of accommodation, 666-67, 719 


NATURE: defined, 11; laws of, 13; 
and nurture, 129-31 


NATURE, HUMAN. See Human nature 


NEGRO: accommodation of, in slavery, 
and freedom, 634-40; assimilation of, 
760-62; race consciousness of, 626- 
34; racial temperament of, 139-40, 
762 

NEIGHBORHOOD: deterioration of, 252- 
54; as a local community, 50; as a 
natural area of primary contacts, 285; 
as a primary group, 56; scale for 
grading, 1002 n. 

NEo-MALTHUSIAN MOVEMENT, 560-61 

News: and social control, 834-37. See 
Newspaper, Publicity 

NeEwspPaPER: bibliography, 428, 858-59; 
historical development of, 385-89; 
as medium of communication, 316-17. 
See Public opinion, Publicity 

NoMINALISM, and social psychology, 41 | 

NoMINALIsTs, and realists in sociology 
36 | 





GENERAL INDEX 


OPINION. See Public opinion 
ORDEAL OF BATTLE: bibliography, 656 


ORGANISM, SOCIAL: and biological, 28; 
Comte’s conception of, 24-25, 393 
humanity or Leviathan? 24-27; and 
the separate organs, 27; Spencer’s 
definition of, 25; Spencer’s essay on, 
28 


ORGANIZATION, ECONOMIC, stages in, 
543 


ORGANIZATION, POLITICAL, gang as a 
factor, 610-13 


ORGANIZATION, SOCIAL: bibliography, 
729-31; of groups, 51; and progress, 
966-68; and rivalry, 604-19; study 
of, 723-25 

ORGANIZATIONS, sociological and_bio- 
logical, 26 . 

ORIGINAL NATURE: an abstraction, 68; 
control over, 84; controlled through 
memory, 468-71; defined, 56, 73-74; 
and environment, 73; inheritance of, 
131-36; of man, 68-69; research in, 
146. See Individual, Individual dif- 
ferences, Instincts 


ORIGINAL TENDENCIES: range of, 74 

ORIGINALITY: accumulated common- 
places, 23; in relation to isolation, 
237-39 

OTHERS-GROUP. See We-group 

Our-croup. See We-group 


PACK, 886-87 

PARTICIPATION: Americanization as, 
762-63; and competitive co-opera- 
tion, 767-68; language as a means 
and a product of, 763-66. See 
Americanization, Assimilation, Col- 
lective behavior, Social control 

Parties: bibliography, 659-60; as con- 
flict groups, 50 

PATTERNS OF LIFE, in nationalities, 46; 
in social classes, 46 


PEACE, as a type of accommodation, 
703-6 


PERIODICALS, SOCIOLOGICAL:  bibliog- 
raphy, 60 
PERSON: bibliography, 152-55, 2733 


effect of city upon, 329; and his 
wishes, 488-90; as an individual with 
status, 55. See Personality, Status 


1035 


PERSONALITY: bibliography, 152-55; 
alterations of, 116-20; classified, 140; 
as a complex, 69, 113-16; conscious, 
490; defined, 70, 115-16; defined in 
terms of attitude, 490; disorganiza- 
tion of, and mental conflict, 641; dis- 
sociation of, 472-75; effect of isola- 
tion upon, 233-39, 271-73; and the 
four wishes,- 442-43; and group 
membership, 609; harmonization of 
conflict, 583-84; of individuals and 
peoples, 126-28; investigation of, 
146-48; as the organism, 111-13; 
shut-in type of, 272; and the social 
group, 48, 52; study of, 271-73; and 
suggestion, 419-20; types of, deter- 
mined by the group, 606-7. See 
Individual, Person, Setf>Status — 


Persons, defined, 55; as “parts” of 
society, 36; product of society, 161 

PHILosopxHy, and natural science, 4 

PITTSBURGH SURVEY, 315, 724 

PLANT COMMUNITIES. See Communi- 
ties 

PLAY: as expressive behavior, 787-88 

Po.itics: bibliography, 940; compara- 
tive, Freeman’s lectures on, 23; as 
expressive behavior, 787-88; among 
the natural sciences, 3; as a positive 
science, 3;..shams in, 826-82 

Poverty. See Defectives, dependents, 
and delinquents 

PRESTIGE: with animals, 809-10; de- 
fined, 807; and prejudice, 808-9; 
in primitive society, 810-11, 811-12; 
in social control, 807-11, 811-12; 
and status in South East Africa, 
811-12. See Leadership, Status 

PRIMARY CONTACTS. See Contacts, 
primary 

PRINTING-PRESS, bibliography, 428 

Privacy: defined, 231; values of, 231 

PROBLEMS, ADMINISTRATIVE: practical 
and technical, 46 

PROBLEMS, HISTORICAL: become psy- 
chological and sociological, 19 

PROBLEMS OF POLICY: political and 
legislative, 46 

PROBLEMS, SOCIAL: classification of, 
45, 46; of the group, 47 

Process: historical, 51; political, as 
distinguished from the cultural, 
52-54 


1036 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


PROCESS, SOCIAL: defined, 51; and 
interaction, 36, 346; natural, 346-48, 
420-21; and social progress, 51-55 

PROGRESS: chap. xiv, 953-1011; bib- 
liography, 57-58, 1004-9; as the 
addition to the sum of accumulated 
experience, 1oo1—2; concept of, 962- 
63, 065-73; and consciousness, 990- 
94; and the cosmic urge, 989-1000; 
criteria of, 985-86; and the defec- 
tives, the dependents, and the delin- 

~quents, 954-55; and the dunkler 
drang, 994-1000; earliest conception 
of, 965-66; and the élan vitale, 989- 
94;/ and eugenics, 979-83; and 
happiness, 967, 973-75; and the 
historical process, 969-73; history of 
the concept of, 958-62; as a hope or 
myth, 958-62; and human nature, 
954, 957-58, 964-65, 983-1000; in- 
dices of, 1002-3; investigations and 
problems, 1000-3; laws of, 15; and 
the limits of scientific prevision, 977- 
79; and mass movements, 54; a 
modern conception, 960-62; and the 
mores, 983-84; and the nature of 
man, 983; and organization, 966-68, 
popular conceptions of, 953-56; and 
prevision, 975-77; problem of, 956- 
58; and providence, in contrast, 960- 
62; and religion, 846-48; a result of 
competition, 988; a result of con- 
tact, 988-89; and science, 973-83; 
and social control, 786; and social 
process, 51-58; and social research, 
1000-2; and social values, 955; 
stages of, 968-69; types of, 984-85; 
and war, 984-89 

PROPAGANDA: in modern nations, 772; 
psychology of, 837-41 

PROVIDENCE: in contrast with progress, 
g60-62 

PSYCHOLOGY, COLLECTIVE, bibliography, 
940-41 

Pusuic: and the crowd, 867-70; con- 
trol in, 800-805; a discussion group, 
798-99, 870 

PUBLIC OPINION: bibliography, 59, 857- 
59; changes in intensity and direction 
of, 792-93; and collective represen- 
tations, 38; combined and sublimated 
judgments of individuals, 795-96; 
continuity in it development, 449- 
51; and crises, 793-94; cross cur- 
rents in, 450-51, 791-93; defined, 38; 


and legislation in England, 445-s1; 
and mores, 829-33; nature of, 826- 
29; opinion of individuals plus their 
differences, 832~-33; organization of, 
51; organization of social forces, 35; 
and schools of thought, 446-49; and 
social control, 786, 816-41, 850-51; 
as social weather, 791-93; as a 
source of social control in cities, 
316-17; supported by sentiment, 
478 
PUBLICITY: as a form of social contact, 
315-17; as a form of social control, 
830; historical evolution of the news- 
paper, 385-89; and publication, 38 


RACE CONPLICT: bibliography, 652-55; 
and race prejudice, 578-79; study of, 
645-40 

RACE CONSCIOUSNESS: and_ conflict, 
626-34; in relation to literature and 
art, 629-32 

RACE PREJUDICE: and competition of 
peoples with different standards of 
living, 622-26; as a defense-reaction, 
623; a form of isolation, 250-52; 
a phenomenon of social distance, 440; 
and prestige, 808-9; and primary 
contacts, 330; and race conflicts, 
578-79 

RACE SUICIDE, and inter-racial compe- 
tition, 538-43 

Races: assimilation of, 756-62; de- 
fined, 634-36 

RACIAL DIFFERENCES: _ bibliography, 
156, 776; and assimilation, 769-70; 
basis of race prejudice and conflict, 
634-36; in primitive and civilized 
man, 92-95 

Rapport: in the crowd, 893-94; in 
hypnotism, 345; in imitation, 344; 
in suggestion, 345 

REACTION, CIRCULAR: in collective 
behavior and social control, 738-92; 
in imitation, 390-91; in social unrest, 
866 

ReEAtisM, and collective psychology, 41 


REALISTS, and nominalists in sociology, 


3 
REFLEX: defined, 73; as response 
toward an object, 479-82; Watson’s 
definition of, 81 
Rerorm: bibliography, 948-50; method 
of effecting, 47; study of, 934 





GENERAL INDEX 


RELIGION: as an agency of social 
control, 846-48; comparative study 
of, 5; as expressive behavior, 787-88; 
as the guardian of mores, 847; and 
law, 853; Methodism, 915-24; origin 


in the choral dance, 871; and revolu- - 


tionary and reform movements, 873- 
74, 908-9 
RELIGIOUS REVIVALS, AND THE ORIGIN 


OF seEcTs: bibliography, 942-44; 
study of, 932-33 
RESEARCH, SOCIAL: and progress, 


1ooe-2; and sociology, 43-57 
RESEARCH, sociological, defined, 44 


RESPONSE, MULTIPLE, and multiple 
causation, 75 

Revivats. See Language revivals, 
Religious revivals 

REVOLUTION: bibliography, 949-50; 


bolshevism, go9-15; French, 905-9; 
and mass movements, 905-15; moral, 
and Methodism, 923-24; and reli- 
gion, 873-74, 908-9; study of, 934 

Rites. See Ritual 

RiTvAL: bibliography, 855-56, 938-39; 
as a basis of myth and dogma, 822-26 

RIVALRY: bibliography, 649; animal, 
604-5; and national welfare, 609-10; 
of social groups, 605-10; and social 
organization, 577-78, 604-19; sub- 
limated form of conflict, 577-78 

ROCKEFELLER MEDICAL FOUNDATION, 
670 

RURAL COMMUNITIES: as local groups, 
50. See Communities 

RURAL MIND, as a product of isolation, 
247-49 

RUSSELL SAGE FOouNnDATION, social 
surveys, 46, 315, 724 

SALVATION ARMY, 873 

SCIENCE: and concrete experience, 15; 
and description, 13; and progress, 
973-83 

SCIENCES, ABSTRACT, instrumental char- 
acter of, 15 


SCIENTIFIC EXPLANATION, and common 
sense, 83 


SECONDARY CONTACTS. 
secondary 


SECRET SOCIETIES, bibliography, 729-30 


See Contacts, 


1037 


Sects: bibliography, 657-58; as conflict 
groups, 50, 722; defined, 204-5; dis- 
tinguished from denomination, 873; 
and institutions, 872-74; origin in 
conflict of beliefs, 614-15; origin in 
the crowd, 870-72; permanent form 
of expressive crowd, 872. See Reli- 
gious revivals 


SEGREGATION: and competition, 525—- 
45; and isolation, 228-30, 254-57; 
and migration, 528-32; in the plant 
community, 525-27; as a process, 
252-54; and social selection, 533-37 


SELECTION, SOCIAL: and demographic 
segregation, 533-37; personal compe- 
tition and status, 708-12 

SELF: conventional, versus natural 
person, 120-22; divided, and moral 
consciousness, 122-26; as the indi- 
vidual’s conception of his réle, 116— 
20; “looking-glass,”’ 70-71. See In- 
dividual, Person, Personality 

SENSES, SOCIOLOGY OF, bibliography, 
332300 

SENSORIUM, SOCIAL, 27, 28 

SENTIMENTS: bibliography, 500-1; of 
caste, 684-88; and competition, 
507; Classification of, 466-67; and 
idea-forces, 463-64; of loyalty, as 


basis of social solidarity, 7509; 
McDougall’s definition, 441, 465; 
mutation of, 441-42; related to 


opinion, 478; as social forces, 464-67 

SEX DIFFERENCES: bibliography, 156; 
and cultural conflicts, 618-19; de- 
scribed, 88-92 

SITTLICHKEIT: defined, 105-7 

SITUATION: definition of, 764-65; and 
response, 73 

SLANG, bibliography, 428-29 

SLAVERY: bibliography, 727-28; de- 
fined, 674-77; and the division of 
labor, 677; interpreted by subordina- 
tion and superordination, 676, 677-- 
81 

SOCIAL ADVERTISING. See Publicity 

SOCIAL AGGREGATES. See Aggregates, 
social 

SOCIAL CHANGES, and disorganization, 


55 
SOCIAL CLASSES, 


SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS. 
sciousness, social 


See Classes, social 
See Con- 


1038 


SOCIAL CONTACT. See Contact, social 

SOCIAL CONTROL. See Control, social 

SOCIAL DISORGANIZATION. See Dis- 
organization, social 

SOCIAL DISTANCE: graphic representa- 
tion of, 282; maintained by isolation, 
230; as psychic separation, 164; 
and race prejudice, 440 

SOCIAL FACT: classification of, 51; imi- 
tative, 21 

SocraAL FoRCES. See Forces, social 

SOCIAL GRoups. See Groups, social 

SOCIAL HERITAGES. See Heritages, 
social 

SOCIAL INTERACTION. See Interaction, 
social 

SOCIAL LIFE: defined, 185-87; and 
human nature, 184-87 

SOCIAL MOVEMENTS. See Mass move- 
ments 

SOCIAL ORGANISM. See 
social 

SOCIAL ORGANIZATION. See Organiza- 
tion, social 

SOCIAL PHENOMENA: Causes of, 17; as 
susceptible of prevision, 1 

SOCIAL PRESSURES, as social forces, 458- 
61 

SOCIAL PROBLEMS. — See Problems, social 

SOCIAL PROCESS. See Process, social 

SOCIAL REFORM. See Problems, social, 
Reform 


Organism, 


SOCIAL SENSORIUM. See Sensorium, 
social 

SOCIAL SOLIDARITY. See Solidarity, 
social 


SOCIAL SURVEYS. See Surveys, social 

SOCIAL TYPES. See Types, social 

SocraL UNIT PLAN, 724 

SOCIAL UNITY, as a product of isolation, 
229-30 

SOCIAL UNREST. See Unrest, social 

SOcIALISM: bibliography, 566-67; eco- 
nomic doctrines of, 559; function of 
myth in, 818-19 

SOCIALIZATION: the goal of social 
effort, 496; as the unity of society, 
348-49 ' 

SociETY: bibliography, 217-23; animal, 
bibliography, 217-18; in the animal 


INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF SOCIOLOGY 


colony, 24; ant, 182-84; an artefact, 
30; based on communication, 185- 
86; collection of persons, 158; col- 
lective consciousness of, 28; “‘collect- 
ive organism,” 24; as consensus, 163; 
defined, 161-64, 167-68, 348-409; 
differentiated from community and 
social group, 163-64; as distinct from 
individuals, 27; exists in communica- 
tion, 36; an extension of the indi- 
vidual organism, 161-62; and the 
group, chap. iti, 161-225, bibliog- 
raphy, 217-23; from an ‘individual- 
istic and collectivistic point of view, 
41, 42; investigations and problems 
of, 210-16; mechanistic interpreta- 
tion of, 346-48; metaphysical science 
of, 2; as part of nature, 29; product 
of nature and of design, 30; scientific 
study of, 210-11; and social distance, 
164; as social interaction, 341, 348; 
and the social process, 211;- and 
solitude, 233-34, 234-45; as the sum 
total of institutions, 161; and symbi- 
osis, 167-75 

SOCIOLOGY: aims at prediction and con- 
trol, 339-40; in the classification of 
the sciences, 6; as collective psy- 
chology, 342; Comte’s program, 1; 
a description and explanation of the 
cultural process, 35; an experimental 
science, 6; a fundamental science, 
6; and history, 1-12, 16-24; as an 
independent science, 1; origin in 
history, 23; origin of, 5,6; and the 
philosophy of history, 44; positive 
science of society, 3; representative 
works in, bibliography, 57-509; rural 
and urban, 40; schools of, 28; a sci- 
ence of collective behavior, 24; a 
science of humanity, 5; and social 
research, 43-57; and the social sci- 
ences, chap. 1, 1-63 

SOCIOLOGICAL INVESTIGATION: methods 
of, bibliography, 58-59 

SOCIOLOGICAL METHOD, 23 

SOCIOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW, 16 


SOLIDARITY, SOCIAL: and the division 
of labor, 714-18; and loyalty, 759; 
and status and competition, 670-71, 
708-18 

SoLituDE. See Isolation 


SPEECH COMMUNITY, changes in, 22. 
See Language 








SraTE, sociological definition of, 50 


STATISTICS, as a method of investiga- 
tion, 51 

SraTus: and competition, 540-42, 670- 
71, 708-18; determined by conflict, 
574-75, 576; determined by members 
of a group, 36; of the person in 
the city, 313; and personal competi- 
tion and social selection, 708-12; 
and prestige in South East Africa, 
811-12; and social solidarity, 670-71, 
708-18. See Prestige 

STRANGER, sociology of, 317-22, 322-27 

STRIKES, bibliography, 652-53 

STRUCTURE, SOCIAL, permanence of, 
746-50 

STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE: and compe- 
Pele (SO4n SLT, | S12—-14,) 0521-25; 
and natural selection, 514-18. See 
Competition 


STRUGGLE: for struggle’s sake, 585-86 

SUBLIMATION: the accommodation of 
mental conflict, 669; defined, 79; 
rivalry as, 577=<78; of war, 598 

SUBMISSION. See “Subordination and 
superordination 


SUBORDINATION AND SUPERORDINATION, 
bibliography, 726; in accommodation, 
667-68; in animal rivalry, 604-5; 
in caste, 684-88; in leadership, 695- 
97; literature of, 721; psychology of, 
688-92; reciprocal character of, 695- 
97; in slavery, 676, 677-81; social 
attitudes in, 692-95; three types of, 
697-793 

SUGGESTION: bibliography, 430-31; basis 
of social change, ‘22; case of Clever 
Hans, 412-15% and contra-sugges- 
tion, 419; in the crowd, 415-16; 
defined, 408; distinguished from 
imitation, 345-46; in hypnotism, 
345, 412, 424, 471-72; and idea- 
forces, 461-64; and imitation, inner 
relation between, 688-89; and leader- 
ship, 419-20; and mass or corporate 
action, 415-20; as a mechanistic 
form of interaction, 344-46, 408-20; 
and perception, active and _ passive, 
345, 408-12; personal and general 
consciousness, 409-12; and person- 
ality, 419-20; as psychic infection, 
410-12; in social life, 345-46, 408-20, 
424; study of, 424; subtler forms of, 
412-15. See Hypnotism 


L INDEX 


1039 


SUPERORDINATION. See Subordination 
and superordination 

SUPPRESSION, not annihilation, 79 

SURVEY, SOCIAL: as a type of com- 
munity study, 436; types of, 46 

SYMBIOSIS: in the ant community, 
169-72; in the plant community, 
177-82 

SYMPATHETIC CONTACTS, versus cate- 
goric contacts, 294-98 

SYMPATHY: and imagination, 397-98; 
imitation its most rudimentary form, 


394-95; intellectual or rational, 
3906-907, 397-401; the “law of 
laughter,” 370-73, 401; psycho- 


logical unison, 395; Ribot’s three 


levels of, 394-97 


Tasoo: bibliography, 856; and religion, 
847; and rules of holiness and un- 
cleanness, 813-16; as social control, 
812-16; and touch, 291-93. . See 
Touch 

TAMING, of animals, 172-75 

TEMPERAMENT: bibliography, 155-56; 
divergencies in, 94; of Negro, 139-40 
762; racial and national, 138-42 

ToucH: as most intimate kind of con- 
tact, 280; and social contact, 282-83, 
291-93; study of, 329-30; and taboo, 
291-93 

TRADITION: and inheritance of acquired 
nature, 137-38; and temperament, 
138-42; versus acculturation, 72. 
See Heritages, social 


TRANSMISSION: by imitation and incul- 
cation, 72, 138; and society, 185; 
Tarde’s theory of, 21 ae 

Types, sociAL: bibliography, 730-31; 
in the city, 313-15; and the division 
of labor, 713-14; result of personal 
competition, 712-14 


UNIVERSES OF DISCOURSE: bibliography, 
428-29; and assimilation, 737, 764; 
“every group has its own language,” 
423. See Communication, Language, 
Publicity 

UNREST, MORAL, 57 

UnrEST, SOCIAL: bibliography, 935-36; 
and circular reaction, 866; and col- 
lective behavior, 866-67; increase of 
Bohemianism, 57; in the I.W.W., 
g11-15; like milling in the herd, 788; 


1040 


UNREST—continued 
manifest in discontent and mental 
anarchy, 907-8; product of the arti- 
ficial conditions of city life, 287, 320; 
result of mobility, 320-21; sign of 
lack of participation, 766-67; and 
social contagion, 875-76; studies 
of, 924-26; and unrealized wishes, 
442-43 

URBAN COMMUNITIES: as local BTSUps; 
50. See Communities 

Uroptas, bibliography, 1008 


VALUES: bibliography, 500; object of 
the wish, 442; personal and imper- 
sonal, 54; positive and negative, 
488; and progress, 955 


VICIOUS CIRCLE, 788-89 


VOCATIONAL GROUPS, as a type of 
accommodation groups, 50 

WANTS AND INTERESTS, bibliography, 
499—500 : 

War: bibliography, 650-52; as an 
exciting game, 580; as a form of 
conflict, 575-76, 576-77, 586-88, 
703-6; and the ‘Great Society,” 
600-601; and human nature, 594-08; 
literature of, 644-45; and man as the 
fighting animal, 600-603; and possi- 
bility of its sublimation, 598; the pre- 
liminary process of rejuvenescence, 


PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. : 





INTRODUCTION TO THE 8 











OF SOCIOLOGY 


596-97; and progress, 984-89; in re- 
lation to instincts and ideals, 576-77, | 
594-603; as relaxation, 593-603; 
and social utopia, 599 

WE-cRoupP: and collective egotism, 606; 
and others-group defined, 283, 293- 
94; ethnocentrism, 294 


WILL: common, 109; general, rro-r1; 
general, in relation to law and con- 
science, 105-11; individual, 104; 
social, 105 


Wis, the Freudian, 438, 442, 478 : 
482- 88, 4970, 
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nature and "personali 
as libido, 442; 
acter, 490; of the persor 
as psychological unit, 479; 
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reflex, 479-82; fepressed, 
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classification ; 442 
407; and values,442, 488 
Woman’s Teagan , 
995 3 
WRITING: as font 
381-84; pictogray 
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lic forms, 381; 





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